"Yes, Martha," came the answer after an instant's pause, and Nickols
Powers stepped from my side to that of Martha Ensley and took her wrung
hands in his. For another long moment we all stood tense at the
acknowledgment that the tragedy had forced to the surface. I stood
beside father like a woman of ice, yet on fire with a contemptuous
humiliation. The eyes of all my world were for an instant turned on me,
then they were all called back to the tragedy that was tottering over
us.
"Hurry, hurry!" came another wail from within the ruins in Charlotte's
voice. "He's bleeding!"
Again Martha started to fling herself past Nickols and the parson with a
scream of terror which was faintly echoed from within.
"Somebody come to Martha," commanded Mr. Goodloe, as he held her off
with one hand while he eased the beam on his shoulder so that Nickols
could slip in past him to the other end.
Suddenly a great, beautiful warmth melted the horror of pride and
humiliation that had frozen my heart as Nickols had stepped from my side
to that of Martha in acknowledgment of her claim upon him for the saving
of the child. All fear for her or us or the babies passed from me. My
soul had gone out into a darkness, called on some great Power that must
be there directing such a thing as was happening to us, and calm and
clear the answer of courage flowed into me.
Then without another moment's hesitation I stepped forward and held out
my arms to Gregory Goodloe for Martha. He put her into their strong
embrace and I pressed her head down upon my shoulder in a great
tenderness I had never felt before, while Nickols, with a long, hunted
look at us both, crawled into the crumbling ruin and crouched under the
beam as Gregory Goodloe directed him.
The wind had died down, the clouds were rolling away the darkness and
the rain had almost stopped as we all stood and waited for Gregory
Goodloe to bring from that ruin, in the way his superior judgment
thought best, either life or death. From within there came sobs and
smothered little moans that were so mingled that they could not be
identified by even the mother hearts held at bay by the faith that made
them obey the parson's command.
And then as I stood there with the mother of the child of my lover
cowering against my breast, with the man who in a few days was to have
been my husband, crouched under almost certain grinding death, and
looked into what at any moment might be the grave of all the babies of
the women I held dear, a light was flooding into my darkness and all of
the obscure, untranslatable writings on my nature became clear and I
received my consciousness of my Master, the Lord Jesus, with a cry that
I sent up for His mediation for the lives of the little ones. It was my
first prayer.