They all knelt and the Rector prayed aloud. He did not petition for the boy's life to be spared. He humbly asked that the hearts of those who loved him might be submissive to God's all-wise decree. "Thy will be done," was the dominant note of the prayer. When they rose from their knees, there was an expression on Mrs. Mandeville's face which no one had ever seen before. The prayer had not helped her: it was not submission nor resignation in any degree which had come to her. She turned to the Rector.
"I do not believe it, Raymond. This is not God's will. God could not order anything so cruel to befall a child, so loving and dutiful--whose faith in God's loving care of him has always been so beautiful to me to witness. Could I, who know only human love, suffer anything like this to befall my little Rosebud, or any of my children? Is human love more pitiful and compassionate than divine love? This dear boy could easily have saved himself; he stood between the cruel beast and my little girls. All three of them might be lying as he is lying now but for his self-sacrifice. Don't tell me it is God's will! If I could believe it, I would wish I were a heathen, and worshipped a god of wood and stone!"
The Rector could only gaze in pained astonishment. Such an outburst was so unlike his usually calm and gentle sister. He judged she was beside herself with grief. She stood with clasped hands, wide-open eyes, unseeing, yet seeing, gazing beyond the confines of that room, catching a momentary vision of that light which 'never was, on land or sea.'
She became calm again--serenely calm.
"I see it," she said. "I understand. This is not God's will. It is not His work. His compassions fail not. His love is over all His children. With Him is the Fountain of Life. Does He not say, 'I will redeem them from death'? He will save this dear child from the grave. Leave me, please. I want to be alone--alone with Carol and God. I want to realize it. Yes; God's will be done. Life, not death, is God's will. I see it, I see so clearly."
To her husband she said softly, "I will ring if I want anything, dear. Don't let anyone come into the room until I ring."
When all had left the room, and the door was closed, she knelt beside the bed, with outstretched arms. It was a mother's cry to God for the life of a child that was as dear to her as her own. Hour after hour passed, and still she knelt. Words failed her, petition ceased: the realization came to her that God is Life: in Him we live, and move, and have our being. In Infinite Life there is no death. Death never is, and never can be God's will. The knowledge, the understanding of God as All-in-all vanquishes death! "O, death, I will be thy plagues. O, grave, I will be thy destruction!" (Hosea XIII., 14.)
The morning dawned, the bright sunbeams stole into the room. The boy opened his eyes. "Auntie,"--she was bending over him--"I have been dreaming. I thought I was in a field, and a bull tossed me high up into the air. But I knew in my dream, 'underneath are the everlasting arms.' Then I dreamed again, and two men were turning me about, and moving my arms and legs, and one said, 'There is not a broken bone, nor even a dislocation. It's a miracle.' I tried to say 'underneath are the everlasting arms,' but I could not speak."
The words were very faint and low. She bent close to catch them, then stopped them with a kiss, a pæan of joy in her heart. He spoke again: "Auntie, something is hurting me very much. I can't move."
"Do not try, darling, lie quite still. I will sit beside you and hold your hand."