The Seventh Hour Read online

  "Just what must I believe? I don't know anything about Him. How can I believe?"

  "To believe on Him means to put your trust in Him as your Savior from sin, as the One who took all your sin and sorrow and emptiness and worthlessness on Himself so that you could have His righteousness, His life."

  Bruce looked at Coralie to see if she would resent being called a sinner, and worthless. But instead of the indignation and scorn that he feared, a wonder and delight suddenly began to dawn in her face.

  "Did somebody do that for me?" she cried. "Oh, why didn't I find it out long ago!" She took a deep breath, like one who has been stifled and has just come into fresh air. "Tell me more," she pleaded. "You see, I don't know anything about Him. Why would He do it?"

  "He is God. And 'God so loved the world,' " explained Bruce, " 'that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' "

  Coralie was listening intently as he spoke, and now she interrupted him.

  "Will you write that down for me? I'm afraid I can't remember it all."

  "I certainly will," said Carbury earnestly. "Have you a Bible?"

  Coralie shook her head.

  "Then I'll get you one. Meanwhile, take this and read the first three or four pages, especially what is printed in red." He handed her his own little leather-bound copy of John's Gospel.

  "But I always thought the Bible was written in the kind of language ordinary people couldn't understand."

  Bruce smiled.

  "That's where you made a big mistake. Some parts of the Bible are so simple that a little child can understand. Where, for instance, would you find anything simpler than this: 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest'? Do you find anything in that hard to be understood? Or this: 'Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.' Or this: 'Fear thou not; for I am with thee; be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.' "

  Coralie was looking up at him, her eyes wide in wonder.

  "Are there many things like that in the Bible?" she asked.

  "A great many," he answered gravely.

  "But who were those things said to? Not to one like me, I'm sure!"

  "Yes, to one like you," said Carbury. "Listen to this: 'Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee.' "

  "But I guess you don't know about me," said the girl humbly. "I've never known a thing about God, nor ever thought about Him. I've just gone my own way and tried to have fun. Those things must have been said for good people like you."

  "The Bible says, 'there is none. . .good, no, not one,' and it says, "All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.' That is the wonder of it. God loved us so much that He laid our sin on His own well-beloved Son, because that was the only way we could go free and be allowed to come Home to dwell with Him forever."

  "You are sure there are things in the Bible that are meant for me?" she asked, still incredulous.

  "Perfectly sure," said Carbury. "God says, 'whosoever.' "

  They had come to stand in a deserted corner of the wide rotunda not far from the stairs he must go down to his train, and Carbury swept a quick glance at the station clock now and again as he talked, and watched the intent face of the girl, who looked as if she was trying to decide whether to believe him or not.

  "It's true!" he said. "Read His Word and you'll find it out. And begin to pray."

  "I don't know how to pray!" she said with sudden fierce bitterness. "I never was taught. And after all the things I've said, and the way I've lived, I couldn't have the face to pray."

  "But after all the things He has said, and the way He lived, and most of all the way He died, why should you hesitate to go to Him with all your perplexities? He knows all about you anyway and understands. It is a great deal easier than coming to me with them, and yet, thank God you did come to me! Can't you go to Him?"

  "But--you had been kind! You had said things about all this to me."

  "Ah! He has been kind. He died to save you. And just you begin to study that Bible and find out what He has said to you about it. I'm sure you'll find out you can trust Him!"

  "How do I pray?" she asked after a longer silence than before.

  "Lock your door, shut the world out even from your thoughts, and then just tell Him, as you would tell me or Dana, all that troubles you. Tell Him, too, that you are beginning to understand you are not worthy to come to Him, but you are trusting in His promises. Read the Book and find out more of those promises. Now--I'm sorry--but I've got to leave you. The train goes in one minute. But I'll be seeing you again. Meantime, you talk to God! Good-bye!" He gave her hand a quick, warm clasp, sprinted across the space to his gateway, and was gone!

  Just a bright look to remember, and that quick, warm handclasp!

  Coralie stood watching the gateway where he had vanished, till the gateman closed the gate, and then she turned and slowly walked back through the station to the outer world where she could take a taxi home.

  Strangely enough, her trouble and uncertainty had vanished. She had something definite to do, and she was going home to do it. Errol might be there to trouble her, Lisa might rage and storm, but she didn't have to trouble about them anymore. She was going to the great God and try to find out if He would have anything to do with her. With that in mind, she had no time to worry about what might happen at home.

  Coralie did not take a taxi as was her wont for even a short trip. She walked. She had a strange reluctance to break the drift of her thoughts by getting home too soon, by having to take up the thread of her life again and meet its problems. She wanted to take a deeper grasp on what had just been said to her, and make it thoroughly hers before she came in contact with anything alien to it. It was as if she had unexpectedly found a precious jewel, and she was afraid she might lose it, afraid someone else would try to snatch it away from her.

  Lisa often snatched pleasant thoughts and sensations away from her. She had learned that long ago when she was just a little child, learned to guard anything that was sweet and pleasant, to hide it in her secret thoughts and cultivate a false brazen front that could not be read at a glance. This had often been her only defense. And now as she walked down the bright crowded street, she steered her going so that she would not be likely to meet any of her acquaintances. She was carrying a precious thought, precious words like a handful of bright jewels that she must study until she knew them by heart. She must remember every word and expression, so that if possible, when she was at home, she could easily recall what had seemed to bring her so much hope.

  So, walking through the city, taking unaccustomed byways for deeper, more assured privacy, she recalled bit by bit, moment by moment her conversation with Bruce Carbury.

  And as she in her soul asked over her own questions, she noted again the light in his eyes, the thrill of her own heart that he took her so in earnest with an answering eagerness of his own. Each turn of phrase, each inflection of his voice, each fleeting expression of his face was reproduced again in her memory without interruption or disappointment. Yes, the whole interview stayed as it had first seemed. It did not, like so many other hopes and bright rays in her past, fade with reviewing it. It was genuine. It bore the test of thinking over. Nothing had ever done that before for her. They all presented some false note, some weakness that showed up when she looked at them calmly afterward. This was a test to which she put everything. And since this talk with Bruce had not failed under scanning, did that not prove that it was worthy to be followed?

  So, word by word she went over the directions.

  "Lock your door. Shut the world out even from your thoughts! Then just tell Him."

  She said it over and over to herself as she arrived finally at the home apartment and went in.

>   Then her mother's world rushed about her and fairly seemed to stifle her. Stark furniture of modern build, garish ugly colors flaunting themselves, sophisticated perfume spicing the air, a tang of incense Lisa had been burning. Why did Lisa like incense? It rasped her nerves with its suggestion of mysticism.

  Then the butler came down the hall carrying a breakfast tray. A glance showed it had scarcely been touched. Toast, eggs, bacon, even the orange juice untouched. That showed Lisa had had a full night last night and would be in an execrable mood this morning. The thought quickened her footsteps. Best not come into contact with her if possible.

  Coralie slid into the music room and escaped the butler, who might not yet have noticed her, and waited until he had vanished kitchenward, then she hurried to her own room and locked the door.

  "Lock the door," the directions had been. Well, it was locked. Was God anywhere there? She was going to talk to God. It was supposable that He was near, that locked doors could not keep Him out, though they could keep other people out. She cast a quick, furtive, half-frightened glance about. She had never prayed before. How did she know God was there? Would He know she was going to speak to Him? Bruce Carbury had been so sure He would hear, would know about her.

  She flung off her hat and gloves and faced the next thought.

  "Shut the world out, even from your thoughts!" That had been the next direction. Then she must not even let her mind wander to think what she would do if Lisa came to the door and demanded to know what she had said down at the bank. She must not worry about anything else. She was to have audience with the King of heaven. Other things did not matter now. This was not a form, a ceremony that had to be gone through, like an incantation. It was something that might, if she fulfilled the conditions, make a difference in the whole of her life.

  She closed her eyes and after an instant, suddenly dropped to her knees, a strange young figure with a little painted lovely face lifted to heaven.

  But over in her own room, Lisa was planning how she could quickly get a certain large sum of money together.

  Just about that time Valerie Shannon, passing through the big outer office of the publishing house, chanced to meet Dana Barron on the way to his office adjoining, and the sudden lighting of his eyes at sight of her met an answering light in her own.

  "You're rather a busy person around here, aren't you?" he said smiling. "I scarcely ever see you."

  "Rather busy yourself, aren't you?" she said with a mischievous twinkle.

  "Well, rather," he smiled. "I'm beginning to learn that nobody around this place wastes any time; it isn't being done. It's rather interesting to keep the pace, isn't it? However I haven't forgotten you said I might come over some evening, and I may carry that into effect rather soon now. Bruce has deserted me for a few days, gone on a business trip to Boston."

  "Fine!" said Valerie. "Why don't you come over to dinner tonight? Mother would love it, I know. And oh, by the way, what's your sister's address? I forgot to ask her, and I've been wondering if she wouldn't come to us for a weekend pretty soon so we could get really acquainted with her."

  "That would be wonderful of you," said Dana with sudden gravity, "but--she isn't saved, you know."

  Valerie's eyes were full of quick understanding, and a gentle sympathy.

  "I wondered," she said.

  "She might not come," said Dana sadly. "You see, I don't really know her. But I'll be grateful if you can be a friend to her. I think she needs one."

  "I'll try," said Valerie, flashing him a smile. She took the address and was gone to her own desk.

  Dana passed on to his own work with a feeling of cheer in his heart. What a thing it would be for his sister if she would get to know this girl well! But probably she wouldn't care for her!

  He sighed and stood a moment by the window next to his desk, looking out with unseeing eyes over the city roofs, wondering if there was anything that he personally could do to further such a friendship.

  Presently he sat down at his desk and took up his new work, but there lingered in his heart a brightness of anticipation. He was going to dinner at the Shannons', and he might have opportunity for a few minutes' private talk with Valerie. If so, perhaps he would tell her more of his sister, and his mother, and ask her to pray for them, and for him as he tried to help them. The thought gave him comfort and ran like a thread of pure sunshine through the labor of the day.

  Chapter 14

  Bruce Carbury spent most of the journey to Boston, his head lying back on the chair, his eyes closed, praying for Coralie Barron.

  Now and again his prayers were interrupted by the chatter of two girls, whose countenances were highly illuminated and whose garments showed that they belonged to the wealthy social order. They were seated just across the aisle from him, and their conversation was distinctly of the world. Occasionally they took themselves to the club car to smoke, or to drink, and returned to gossip about their parties and their men friends. And as their lively talk continued, it came sharply to Bruce that these girls belonged to the same world that Coralie Barron did. The mark was unmistakable. Studying them casually under the fringes of his lashes, he found himself wondering that a girl with such background and traditions should have been stirred to ask the questions about salvation that Coralie had asked. And would she be able to get the real meaning from the Bible he had promised to send her? Wasn't it a sort of hopeless task to try and bring Dana's sister to a true knowledge of salvation in Jesus Christ?

  But ah! The Lord had not thought it hopeless! He had given His life for such!

  So Bruce prayed on.

  And when he reached Boston one of his first acts, after he had made an appointment to meet the man he had come to see, was to go to a bookstore and purchase a lovely Bible, bound in genuine leather, dark blue, soft and flexible, with India paper and clear print, a Scofield that would give her help with its enlightening notes and references, in case she really wanted to know the truth and search for it. It was indeed a lovely Bible, "deluxe" so far as any book could be, and as he held it in his hand a moment his soul thrilled with the thought that it was his privilege to give it to that little lost, lovely sister of his friend. Its whole makeup was beautiful and seemed fitting for her to have. Of course, a common, ordinary Bible would have brought the truth as well to any lost soul. But it might well be that the beauty of the binding would hold her to a passing whim to read it, until the matchless words themselves should have reached her soul.

  He had the book mailed to her at once and then went happily about the business that had brought him to Boston. He had done his best, and now he must trust the Holy Spirit to do His work. His own part from now on would be to continue in prayer for this soul, who had so strangely asked his help. She might be genuine, and she might not. His part was to pray.

  And while he prayed he included Dana, and his strange unhappy situation with regard to a mother who was not a mother.

  And curiously, just at that very moment, back in New York, Dana Barron was in receipt of a rather disturbing letter.

  Right into the midst of the pleasant morning and the work that he enjoyed doing, it came. An announcement from a lawyer that he must furnish within the next few days a full statement of his deceased father's financial affairs, accurate knowledge of where is holdings now were, and a copy of his will. The letter ended with a threatening sentence, which might or might not mean much.

  Dana was not well enough acquainted in New York to know that the man whose name was signed to the letter was one of the trickiest and most notorious lawyers the city boasted. But he understood the language in which the letter was couched well enough to know that his mother was resorting to extreme means to carry her end. And that end? Well, it was all too evident that it was money. She didn't believe what he had told her, that his father had given her everything except his bare living.

  The letter was a most disturbing element and would distract him from work that day, till he finally faced the thing in the quiet of his office with c
losed eyes and asked his heavenly Father to take command of him and to work out the matter in the right way.

  He looked up from that moment's contact with the Throne with his thoughts at peace, and he began to realize that there was really nothing in the whole matter to worry about. There wasn't any property, and it would be easy to prove that. The shaft that hit him hardest was that the woman he must acknowledge as his own mother was doing this thing. That she was so sordid and material-minded that all she cared for from her son was a few paltry dollars she hoped he would be able to supply to her. He hated to acknowledge that she was such a woman. Of course, he ought to have been prepared to find her so, since she had run away from her husband and baby son to lead her own willful life, yet somehow he had hoped against hope that there would be found in her somewhere something sweet and lovable. He shrank, too, from the thought that perhaps his few acquaintances here in New York might have to know what she was.

  But after all, this was no more than he had known he might find, before he came here, and why should he tear his heart out over it? His father had suffered worse and cheerfully carried on that he might give a life as nearly normal as possible to a son whose mother had deserted him.

  So with a quiet mind Dana wrote a brief letter to the lawyer stating that his father had no property whatever when he died and that he himself had nothing save the little cottage where they had lived; his father had given him that when he came of age. He said that his father had left no will, as there was no property to leave, and that these facts could easily be verified by writing to the following addresses in the West. Then he gave the names of businessmen, the tax collector, a lawyer friend, their doctor, their pastor, and the president of the bank where his father's accounts had formerly been kept.

  After the letter was dispatched Dana felt better. Why should he worry? This matter would straighten itself out. And after all, he was going to the Shannons' to dinner tonight! He just couldn't be despondent. The Shannons were not people who would believe he was trying to steal property from his own mother, even if she had deserted him.