For some time he remained in this kneeling position, but somehow he did not receive the reassuring comfort he had expected. He recalled the time when peace and comfort had always come to him on such an occasion. Now, however, it was so different. He believed that the same Father was ready to hear as of old, but why was there not the feeling of peace as formerly?
He thought of this as he knelt by the side of the sick child, with his face deep in his hands. Then in an instant it all came to him. It was his great sin which stood between him and his God! He understood for the first time the full meaning of the story of the Garden of Eden. As it was impossible for the first parents to go back to the sweet peace of their former life after they had sinned, so neither could he return to the blessed state of years ago because of the sin which he had committed. There stood before him at the gate the explicit "Nay" of the eternal God which guarded the entrance to the throne of purity and peace as truly as did the flaming revolving sword in the far-off Edenic days. He knew that he was an outcast in a more terrible manner than he had ever imagined. He was an outcast not only from his Church, but from his God. The former he had scorned, believing that he could get along without it. But an outcast from his God! He lifted his haggard face as the terrible reality dawned upon him. He rose slowly to his feet. He groped his way to the big chair, and sank heavily into it, the very epitome of wretched despair.
CHAPTER XI
UNFOLDING
When morning dawned the horrors of the night lessened, and although weary from want of sleep Martin was not so much depressed. This was due principally to the fact that Nance was somewhat improved. The change had come very quietly, and toward morning she had opened her eyes and had spoken to the bowed man crouching in the chair before the fire. Martin had bounded to her side, and when he saw the new expression in her eyes he knew that the turn for the better had come, and that with care she would recover.
There was complete silence in the cabin all through the day, for Nance, who had sunk into a natural sleep, must not be disturbed. Quabee, and often Taku, kept a patient and faithful watch by the child, while Martin slept on the couch to the left of the fire-place.
Thus through the days and weeks which followed this season of anxiety Nance rapidly improved. Martin was ever with her, played with her, told her stories, and did all in his power to atone for his past neglect. The story he was called upon to tell more than any other was about Beryl. Nance was never weary of hearing about her, and it was the one which Martin was never tired of relating. A mere general and vague idea of what her heroine was like would not satisfy the child. She had to know the colour of her eyes, hair, what kind of dresses she wore, and how she looked when she sang, in fact so many things that Martin's memory was severely put to the test.
To Nance Beryl was more than human. The child's vivid imagination wrought a marvellous transformation, and invested her heroine with qualities little short of divine. As the months passed and Nance's mind steadily developed this silent adoration instead of diminishing increased. Beryl was her standard of perfection in everything. She must have her hair arranged just like Beryl's, and she endeavoured to teach Quabee to make her dresses like those of her heroine. The Indian woman would often gaze in amazement as Nance talked about Beryl. She could not see with the eyes of the child, nor enter into her bright and wonderful world of fancy.
The greatest thing of all to Nance was that Beryl could sing. She, accordingly, must do the same. She had a sweet voice herself, and a true ear, and picked up tunes almost intuitively. Able to sing himself, Martin taught her all the songs and hymns he could remember. Then when she became old enough he gave her lessons upon the violin. It was a great day for the child when she was allowed to take the instrument into her own hands. She had often looked upon it with deep longing, and would sit for any length of time watching Martin drawing the bow so skilfully across the strings, and producing such marvellous music.