"I wish so too, my poor, dear boy."
"Could you move me a tiny bit, Auntie? I ache so lying in the same position. It seems so strange not to be able to move myself at all. Error seems very real."
Gently and lovingly, she tried to ease his position, but the least touch brought an expression of acute pain. She had to desist.
The long weary hours of that day passed, but no message, either a telegram or letter, came from Miss Desmond. Another wire was sent, asking for a reply. Still none came. Then, later on in the evening, a message was sent addressed to the housekeeper at Willmar Court, which quickly brought a reply: "Miss Desmond away. Impossible to forward messages."
Mrs. Mandeville told Carol very gently. He did not speak for some time, and, though he lay with closed eyes, she knew he was not sleeping.
Then he looked up at her:
"Auntie, when Jesus was in the boat, and the winds arose, and the waves surged high around the little boat, Jesus didn't command them at once to be still. The disciples had to awake him, and he rebuked them for their little faith. Shouldn't they have waited patiently, knowing it was all right? Sometimes it seems error has bound me with ropes, and I cannot move; sometimes it seems like waves washing over me. But I know that Love is saying to error's angry waves, 'Thus far, and no farther.' And just at the right moment the command will come: 'Peace, be still.'"
Mrs. Mandeville hid her face in the pillow beside him, that he might not see the tears streaming from her eyes. She had lost again the faith which for a time had uplifted her to a realization of God's power to save the boy from death. In imagination she saw a new little grave in the churchyard with that word "Peace" graven in the marble headstone. She had been anxious for news from Miss Desmond because Carol wished it so much. She had little hope or faith that injuries, such as his, could in any way be alleviated by Miss Desmond's knowledge of Christian Science. The night passed again, and not for one hour did sleep close the suffering boy's eyes. He had been unconscious for a time, murmuring incoherently; but it was not sleep.
Dr. Burton said very little when he came in the morning; he only looked graver and sadder. By telegram he had been in constant communication with Sir Wilfrid Wynne, and he knew that, humanly speaking, nothing more could be done for the boy than was being done. Yet there was no progress.
"How I wish there was something I could do for you, Carol!" Mrs. Mandeville said, as she sat beside him.