Maggie found herself caught into a strange companionship with the
people around her. Not now ecstasy nor the excitement of religious
fanaticism nor the superstitious preparation for some awful events--
none of these emotions now lifted her into some strained unnatural
sphere--no, nothing but a strange sympathy and kindness and
understanding that she had never known in all her life before. She
felt the hunger, the passionate appeal: "Oh God come! Prove Thy-
self! We have waited so long. We have resisted unbelievers, we have
fought our own doubts and betrayals, give us now a Sign! something
by which we may know Thee!" and with that appeal the conviction in
the hearts of almost all present that nothing would happen, that God
would give no sign, that the age of miracles was past.
"Oh, why did He want to be so definite," she thought. "Why couldn't
He have left them as they were without forcing them to this."
They were sitting down now, and Thurston, with his cheap sense of
the dramatic and false emphasis, was reading from the New Testament.
Maggie looked to where Mr. Warlock was, a little to the right of
Thurston, in his black gown, his head a little lowered, his hands on
his lap.
Pages:
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529