Since her husband's departure Mrs. Thorpe's time had been taken up with work that pressed upon her; many cares and real labor claimed her time and strength. But now all was done, her house was in order and she was alone, sitting with empty hands--alone--beside her silent hearth. The wind blustered noisily outside, foretelling the ravages of winter, and sleet and rain came spasmodically against her window-panes. And here in the solitude of her new home old memories crowded round her and ghosts of her former self trooped through the silent rooms. She recalled how she had tried in the early days of her married life to penetrate the future, the sealed and silent future. Merciful love of the Infinite One, who turns the pages of life's book one at a time!
A sudden gust of wind came furiously against her window. She arose and walked about the room and pressed her face against the window-pane and looked out into the darkness. A white, transparent face it was, with eyes too large and dark for their setting. Then she came back and stood before her fire, a slender, girlish figure with clasped hands and bowed head. A sigh arose to her lips and ended in a quivering sob. She sank upon her knees beside her chair and buried her face in her hands.
"Maurice!" she cried, "Maurice--it is all false and untrue--this trouble that parts us. There is no evil, no pain, no sickness in God's world--Maurice--God's power is absolute; there is no other. God is supreme--love will conquer."
It was not the heart of the mortal woman, loyal and loving though it was with human affection; but the soul of her diviner self that was crying in the silence for its own. And never yet has the soul called in vain. Yet, is it not true that the Mount of Calvary is the mount of answered prayer? It was here that the great love-born prayer for humanity was consummated; a consummation attained by the adorable surrender of the finite to the Infinite.
Mrs. Thorpe had prayed; back in those haunted, troubled days she had dared to pray that all forms of suffering might be heaped upon her, that she might become an outcast in the world, if by this means she might know God. Now she felt the living presence of the Infinite enfolding her, and her life merged into the great Life. Had she not been all the way to Calvary?
When she arose from her knees she sat quietly, bravely before her open fire, and listened to the wind and rain without. After a time she experienced a feeling, vague, indefinite at first, that something was required of her, someone needed her. She could not tell who it was, nor where, but the feeling grew upon her that she was needed by someone in trouble. After a time this unvoiced conviction become so persistent that she arose and took her hood and rain-coat from the closet.
"It may be Mrs. Boyd," she thought. "Her baby is sick; I will call over and see."
At the door the wind caught her and the rain dashed into her face; but she pulled her garments more firmly about her and faced the storm. At her gate she paused for a moment in the face of the gale. "What is it," she questioned, "that is drawing me out into the night and the tempest?"
No one had sent for her, she had spoken no word to anyone, yet the feeling was so strong within her that she persisted, and made her way to her neighbor's door.
Mrs. Boyd met her garrulously: "And are you out in the storm, Mrs. Thorpe? Lonesome? Well, no doubt, no doubt; it's hard living alone for a woman, and a bad night to keep one's own company."