Chapter XX: In the Darkness

WHEN Meg awoke to consciousness she looked about her in consternation. She was in a large ward containing many other beds, and as she looked with startled eyes around, it gradually dawned upon her that she was in the Infirmary. From the sunshine, brightness and comfort of Friars Court to the Infirmary. Meg turned her face to the wall and wept. The iron had entered into her soul, she wished she could die.

She felt she was forgotten and absolutely alone. The pain at her heart was so fierce and strong that it was almost unendurable. She could scarcely trust herself to think of Sheila. She felt that had it not been for her she might still have been comparatively happy, tramping the lanes and sleeping under the stars.

What had been the good of taking her up in the way she had done and then casting her off? Meg wished she had never seen her; that she had never entered Friars Court, that Miss Gregson and Mr. Fortescue had never crossed her path. What good had it been? It had only made her discontented with her own life and unprepared for the struggle that she had now to face.

And what had been the good of Sheila's apparent love and kindness? It had not been worth having, it was nothing to be compared with Jem's love for her, the love she had spurned and turned her back upon.

Tormented with these thoughts Meg tossed about too depressed to look again at her surroundings. Then she heard a faint sound coming from the bed next to her own. She turned to listen and look.

An old woman lay gazing at her as she murmured words that arrested Meg's attention.

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."

The voice was very weak, and the owner of it very old, but the patient lay looking at Meg with a pair of sweet calm eyes. The gray hair was brushed smoothly over the forehead, and the whole aspect of the woman spoke of peace and content.

Meg looked away from her to the other occupants of the ward. At the opposite corner lay a woman who constantly burst out into idiotic laughter. No one took any notice of her.

Across the ward was a little group of women chattering. They were all more or less in a state of convalescence, and their voices were loud and coarse. Meg occasionally caught the sound of oaths and foul language. She stopped her ears not to hear.

But the woman lying so still and peaceful by her side seemed quite oblivious of all her sad surroundings. Had she been in a palace she could scarcely have looked more contented. She kept repeating the words of comfort, looking at Meg all the time.

"Why are you so happy?" asked Meg.

The old woman looked dazed for a moment. Then she murmured, "Neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."

After that, Meg did not venture to speak to her again. The woman was evidently past making any kind of mental effort, but she kept repeating the same words, and smiling at the girl.

Meg was feeling too sad to return the smile. She lay and stared at her fellow sufferer, wondering how she could possibly be so peaceful in such surroundings. She envied her.

In the morning the bed was empty.

For some days after the death of the old woman, Meg lay in a kind of stupor; then one morning she awoke to the full perception of what was going on around her. The darkest hour of her life had arrived.

A fierce rebellion took possession of her. Looking around at the faces of her companions in misfortune, she could see nothing but marks of sin, reckless despair, or sullen indifference, and now that the restraining influence of the old saint had been removed, Meg took no pains to shut her ears to the profane and foul language that abounded.

She had tried not to listen so long as the old woman had lain and smiled at her from the next bed, but now she sat up and laughed fiercely. She felt a bitter inclination to join with these others as the oaths were flung about with violence; a reckless spirit seemed to take possession of her, and the language, instead of making her shrink away in horror chimed in with her present mood. Meg had come to the turning point of her life. The crisis was at hand. She was on the verge of disaster; standing on the very brink of the road that leads to hell. She could see nothing before her but sin, darkness, and despair.

She flung her arms above her head and laughed, a mirthless bitter laugh, so bitter that a woman who now lay in the next bed to her turned round and stared. But the girl offered no explanation of her action. Instead she gazed up into the sky, which she could see from the opposite window, with wild angry eyes.

When night came she tossed from side to side full of misery, then lay wide eyed still gazing up into the sky.

A star had fixed her attention. Her eyes were riveted upon it, and against her will she found her thoughts wandering into the garden at Friars Court, and she stood once more on the dewy grass in the morning sunshine, looking up at her bedroom window from which she could catch a sight of the picture of the Good Shepherd rescuing the lamb. It brought to her mind the voice of Miss Gregson as she had explained the picture to her on her first arrival at the Court. She remembered how she had listened with interest, and then had forgotten all about it in the delightful excitement of her life. She was unconscious of the need of a Saviour. Now all had changed for her. She felt as if in a dark pit; without hope. Her need was great. She was conscious that she was standing on the edge of a precipice, and the faintest push would mean death and darkness to her.

She groaned, stretching out her hands over the coverlet as if groping for something.

Then out of the depth she cried, and something wonderful happened.

The same experience has been undergone by many a soul that has lain in darkness and the shadow of death.

It happened to Musgrave Reade, the atheist, at "the height of his rebellion against God"; to Max Muller, Professor of Comparative Philology at Oxford, as after many years of prejudice and neglect of the New Testament, he opened it again. It happened to St. Paul as he rode on his way to Damascus, breathing out threatenings and slaughter against the disciples of the Lord.

So as Meg lay looking up into the starry sky with despairing eyes, a "still small voice" spoke to her, and in the darkness, she listened.

From that moment life was changed, for she had found a Friend and a Saviour.