159
April 1931
T h e
K i n g ’ s
B u s i n e s s
The Return of the Tide A New Serial Story B y Z enobia B ikd
love had seemed to surround her almost from her child hood, but who in these later years had wanted to claim her for his very own—even Nelson had failed her, terribly failed her. It seemed only a fitting climax to the very whirlwind of desolation when the family lawyer had told her only a few days before that the company in which most of her father’s money had been invested was now a failure and she had no> longer any income on which to live even in moderate comfort.' Her mind wandered back to the service, and she listened again. What was that he was saying? “The clouds may close around and shut out the vision, but they cannot shut out the Voice. That Voice comes through the cloud, often in the cloud, and when it speaks we do well to listen. Do not let your ears be dulled though your eyes are dim. The Voice brings one message: ‘This is my beloved Son; hear him.’ Oh, my friends, there is just one thing to do when clouds of trouble overwhelm. Lay your burden, your aching heart, down in the loving arms of the dear Son of God, and hear —- ye — Him.” The service was ended, and the people were filing out into the bright sunshine. Marian felt she could hardly rise to her feet; but with an effort she pulled herself to gether and walked down the aisle without a glance to the right hand or the left. More than one worshiper turned and looked pityingly at the white, set face, but no one ventured to speak to her. Only the minister at the door grasped her hand in his with a warm, sympathetic touch which somehow seemed almost to reach to the place of awful loneliness where she seemed marooned. But he knew nothing of the girl; he did not recall ever having seen her. She was one of the constantly changing con gregation at the quiet little seaside resort. Coming out of the church, Marian walked straight to the beach. She wanted to be alone, and think. Why had all these things come to her? Why had her happy, even life been shattered by blow upon blow? Was it her fault, was it something she had done? She thought she was a Christian, thought she was trusting God, but now, she wondered, was God really there, back of all that great bank of awful blackness? Did she really have faith after all? Her mother’s death, even after a long illness, had been a terrible shock to her. She had felt her faith some times waver as the prayers for her mother’s healing seemed all unheard, certainly unanswered. She tried to bow submissively to God’s will when He finally took her. But when her father’s broken body was brought home only the day after her mother was laid away, her faith was shattered—-or was it only paralyzed? The things that followed had seemed only to fall with a dull thud on her benumbed senses. Was there a God who cared? She knew it was a temptation of Satan, this doubting of His love and power. She had tried to believe. If some one could fathom the mystery for h e r! She had walked far down the beach, away from the little groups here and there. She was going to a place
C hapter I B T h ARIAN LINTON followed the courteous usher ' down the aisle of the crowded little church. fa seemed an interminable distance. She was annoyed that he was taking her so far toward M T ¡fJsiL the front, but she dropped wearily into the -*• seat indicated and bowed her head for the moment of prayer. It was almost time for the service to begin, and she suddenly wondered, with an utter revulsion of feeling,
why she had ever come at all. She glanced about her. The place was well filled, all but the first few rows of seats. She was directly in front of the pulpit. Only this, and her sénse of reverence and good taste, kept her from following a wild im pulse to get up and leave while there still was time. But as she thought of all the people she would have to face, she hesitated, and in a minute more the singing had begun. Like one in a daze, she followed through thè form of worship, hear ing scarcely a word that was spoken. Now the minister was reading. What was that he was saying ? She wished she had paid closer attention. Something in the words had caught themselves in her mind and stirred her interest for a fleeting moment. She could not call them back; and she once more sank into the apathy that surrounded her like a pall. And now the minister was speak ing. He was reading again. Yes, those were the words she had heard. “And they feared as they entered into the cloud.” “We often fear as the clouds close round about us,” he was say ing. “There are clouds of trouble, of perplexity, of grief, and we fear
them. We do not know what they contain, or what sud den, dreaded thing may appear from their gloomy depths to terrify and appall.” Marian clenched her hands. She bit her lips to still their trembling. Tears were stinging her eyes, but she forced them back. She must not break down here; oh, she must not ! Clouds, clouds! Yes, they had closed around her, their inky blackness stifling, and seeming to crush the very life out of her soul and body. Her mother’s death, her father killed in an automobile accident the day after the funeral, her only brother tangled in a piece of wrongdoing and obliged to flee from justice and even now in hiding, she did not know where. And then, as though to cap it all, Nelson Barrington, whose
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