d with a curious fervour--not in
decorous fear of seeming to thrust themselves before the throne, making
too much of their petitions, in the presence of the gentry. Here and
there sobs were to be heard. Lady Anstruthers followed the service
timorously and with tears. But Betty, kneeling at her side, by the round
table in the centre of the great square Stornham pew, which was like a
room, bowed her head upon her folded arms, and prayed her own intense,
insistent prayer.

"God in Heaven!" was her inward cry. "God of all the worlds! Do not let
him die. 'If ye ask anything in my name that I will do.' Christ said it.
In the name of Jesus of Nazareth--do not let him die! All the worlds are
yours--all the power--listen to us--listen to us. Lord, I believe--help
thou my unbelief. If this terror robs me of faith, and I pray
madly--forgive, forgive me. Do not count it against me as sin. You made
him. He has suffered and been alone. It is not time--it is not time yet
for him to go. He has known no joy and no bright thing. Do not let him
go out of the warm world like a blind man. Do not let him die. Perhaps
this is not prayer, but raging. Forgive--forgive! All power is gone from
me. God of the worlds, and the great winds, and the myriad stars--do not
let him die!"

She knew her thoughts were wild, but their torrent bore her with them
into a strange, great silence. She did not hear the vicar's words, or
the responses of the people. She was not within the grey stone walls.
She had been drawn away as into the darkness and stillness of the night,
and no soul but her own seemed near. Through the stillness and the dark
her praying seemed to call and echo, clamouring again and again. It must
reach Something--it must be heard, because she cried so loud, though to
the human beings about her she seemed kneeling in silence. She went on
and on, repeating her words, changing them, ending and beginning again,
pouring forth a flood of appeal. She thought later that the flood must
have been at its highest tide when, singularly, it was stemmed. Without
warning, a wave of awe passed over her which strangely silenced her--and
left her bowed and kneeling, but crying out no more. The darkness had
become still, even as it had not been still before. Suddenly she cowered
as she knelt and held her breath. Something had drawn a little near. No
thoughts--no words--no cries were needed as the great stillness grew and
spread, and folded her being within it. S