Jane sat on a low chair with her arms pillowed behind her head.
"Now," she said, "tell me all, tell me your story from the very beginning. You have suffered much, I can see it in your face, but you are happy. Tell me where you met your husband. I may say at once that I like him tremendously."
"Jane," I said, "my heart goes out to you at your words. To like Dimbie shows that you possess a fine discrimination."
She smiled and said, "I am waiting."
And so in the gentle hush of evening, in the fading light, in the sweet fragrance of the garden, I told her all. Of Dimbie's and my first meeting, of our engagement, of our marriage, of my great happiness —I lingered on that. The pain which had been mine when I recalled those radiant days had gone. I could speak of them now calmly and without any break in my voice. Those were days pulsating with joy, these were days of a great peace. Then briefly I touched upon my accident and suffering, of our hopes only to be dashed to the ground, of my subsequent despair, of my doubts as to the steadfastness of Dimbie's love, followed by the radiance of complete faith and understanding. I told her of Aunt Letitia's money, of my desire to remain at our cottage till the end of the year because—— Should I tell her why? Should I tell her that which I had even withheld from Dimbie? Jane was so sensible, so—— And out of the gathering darkness it came to me that she was crying silently, despairingly.
"Why, Jane," I whispered, "you are crying. You must not do that, Dimbie might come, and it would distress him. Listen, I am not unhappy now. Do not think I am sorry for myself, for— perhaps I cannot make it clear to you, words are so futile, but—one morning just lately, one wonderful dawn when God Himself took out His pallet and brush and touched the clouds with softest grey and pearl, and pink and rose, when the first note of a still sleepy bird broke the silence, when the flowers shook the dew from their fresh morning faces, something came to my room on footsteps light as thistledown, something came to my bed on which I had spent a long, weary, sleepless night, and laid a gentle, healing hand on my aching brow, and sorrow and pain and the fear of death fell from me, and I was comforted. You will say I was fanciful, imaginative, that my mind was overwrought from fatigue; but no, I was calm and clear-eyed, and I knew that it was Peace that had come to me. I opened my arms wide and held it closely, never to let go. 'Dear Comforter,' I whispered, 'you shall never leave me, for now I know a happiness which is not of this world, but is of a life which is eternal.'
"I lay very still thinking about it. I must tell you that during my weeks of suffering I had lost my faith, I had lost God. I felt that He had treated me too cruelly. 'He is not a God of love,' I had cried. 'I cannot believe that. I have done with Him.' So as I lay watching the dawn, waiting for the sun, I wondered and wondered again: 'Has God forgiven me—forgiven my rebellion, taken pity on my loneliness?' For when Dimbie has said his prayers at night with his hand in mine, and entered into His presence, I have felt so lonely and cried in my heart, 'Lord, let me find Thee again, for where Dimbie is there I want to be.'
"'Perhaps He has forgiven me, and wants me—even me,' I said to myself. With my eyes on the glowing east I waited and watched for the sun. At last he appeared, and, as though looking for me, sent a warm shaft of light across my body. And from me came the words, 'God is good! Allah is great!' And I laughed aloud, and Dimbie stirred and woke. 'What is it, girl?' he asked. 'Have you had a good night?'
"'A bad, bad night, but such a dawn. Look! Here from my corner I can see all the beauty of the world—shell-pink softness, the red glory of sunrise, a distant cornfield touched with gold, dewdrops on gossamer web.
"'O world as God has made it, all is beauty;
And knowing this is love, and love is duty.
What further may be sought for——'