Ten Degrees Backward

by Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler

On the eighth day—to me it seemed the eighth century—of Fay's illness, I awoke in the morning (if one can call it waking when one hardly sleeps) with certain words of Mr. Henderson's ringing in my ears; words to which I had attached no importance at the time, which I had never thought of since, but which suddenly came back to me now with an emphasis they had not borne at first. The materialist, with his deeper credulity and more unreasoning faith, would put this phenomenon down to some strange and inexplicable vagary on the part of my subconscious self; but my simpler and less complex mind was satisfied with the more obvious explanation that God had, after all, heard my prayer, and had let my cry come unto Him.

"I do not know, but I think you have the gift of healing," Henderson had said to me just as he was leaving the Rectory, "utterly uncultivated and undeveloped, but ready for Christ's use should He need it."

And when I woke from my restless dozing on that particular morning, those words of Mr. Henderson's were ringing in my ears as plainly as if he had just uttered them.

I dressed hurriedly, and without waiting for any breakfast went straight to the Rectory to remind Blathwayte of what Henderson had said. It was too early as yet for the doctor's visit, and the night-nurse was still upon duty; but she had nothing good to report, as Fay's temperature kept up and her strength was failing.

"Come and see," said Blathwayte, when I had recalled Henderson's words to his mind. "If he was right, and you have the gift, you may save Fay's life even yet."

And he took me into the sick-room, where the shadow of my darling lay fighting for breath.

Then followed another of those experiences which sound incredible in the telling, but which was so natural—so inevitable—at the time, that it would have been impossible for anything else to have happened.

I knelt down by Fay's bed and laid my hand on her burning forehead, and I lifted up my soul to God in prayer, as I had never lifted it before. As I prayed I became conscious—as I had been when Frank seemed dying—of a Presence in the room, the Presence of a living Christ who was standing by my side so near that I could almost feel His Touch—so real that I felt if I opened my eyes I should see His Face. And with His coming all the sorrow and anxiety and misery disappeared, and I knew that nothing could ever really harm her or pluck her out of His Hand. Fear vanished, because with Him beside me there was nothing to fear: sorrow disappeared, because He brought with Him fulness of joy: death stood at bay, because He had conquered death. There was nothing any longer except Him, because in Him and through Him and of Him are all things. And I was conscious not only of a profound peace in this Ineffable Presence: I was conscious also of an inexhaustible power. I felt flowing into me, and through me into Fay, a sort of wonderful electric current—a very elixir of life itself—which I can describe as nothing but "the Power from on High." At that moment I felt that I had the wings of eagles, and the strength of the angels that excel.

How long I knelt I know not. It was a moment snatched from eternity, and therefore beyond the measurements of time. I realised that in His glorious Presence there is neither past nor future, but only one glorious, unending Now.

Gradually the Presence withdrew Itself, and the rush of Power flowing through me subsided, and I opened my eyes and looked at Fay. The fever flush in her cheeks was already fading, and the brow under my hand grew cool and moist. I rose from my knees and told the nurse to take the temperature: she did so, and found it rapidly subsiding. The pulse, too, was slower, and the breathing much easier. By the time that the doctor came he was able to say that the crisis was past, and that the patient was on the way to recovery.