The Witness by Grace Livingston Hill Lutz
page 58 of 365 (15%)
page 58 of 365 (15%)
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on her bed of pain! But there had been glory in that dark old room when
he left it, the glory of a Presence! Ah! Where was the Presence now? How could _He_ bear all this? The Christ! And could He not change it if He would--make the world a happy place instead of this dark and dreadful thing that it was? For the first time the horror of war surged over his soul in its blackness. Men dying in the trenches! Women weeping at home for them! Others suffering and bleeding to death out in the open, the cold or the storm! How could God let it all be? His wondering soul cried out, "Lord, if Thou hadst been here!" It was the old question that used to come up in the class-room, yet now, strangely enough, he began to feel there was an answer to it somewhere; an answer wherewith he would be satisfied when he found it. It seemed an eternity of thought through which he passed as he crossed and recrossed the street and was back in the tiny room where life waited on death. It was another eternity while the doctor worked again over the boy. But at last he stood back, shaking his head and blinking the tears from his kind, tired, blue eyes. "It's no use," he said, gruffly, turning his head away. "He's gone!" It was then the girl brushed him aside and sank to her knees beside the little cot. "Aleck! Aleck! Darling brother! Can't you speak to your Bonnie just once more before you go?" she called, clearly, distinctly, as if to a child who was far on his way hence. And then once again pitifully: "Oh, darling brother! You're all I had left! Let me hear you call me |
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