The Seventh Hour

by Grace Livingston Hill

  "Sure, I remember Kirk," said Dana. "He stayed over Sunday once. I thought he was a prince of a fellow."

  "Well, he thought the same of you, of course. In fact he used almost those same words about you. Well, he's in charge of some kind of a mission here, and he wants us to come down tonight to the meeting. I told him we'd be there, that is, if you hadn't planned something else. Would you like to go?"

  "Of course," said Dana cheerfully. "That would be great. I guess I need a mission or something to take the bad taste of the world out of my mouth."

  So they went downstairs to a restaurant quite near at hand for their dinner and then came back up to the room to get ready to go to the meeting.

  "I'm glad you ran across Kirk," said Dana as he put on a clean collar and a fresh tie. "That will make me feel a lot better about leaving you alone in a strange city, in case I have to go soon. It will be nice that you have one old friend. And I liked Kirk a lot."

  Bruce turned quickly, a disappointed look on his face.

  "You've decided to go?" he asked sadly. "You didn't get any encouragement at that publishing house? I was counting a lot on that."

  Dana turned toward him with a grin.

  "Why, I didn't even go to the publishing house yet. I didn't feel I was ready. I thought I needed to know more about my future movements before I went there."

  "What for, you goop?" asked Bruce with the old-time bantering tone. "If I ever saw such a dumb-bunny in my life! How can you know what you want to do until you see if they have anything to offer you, or to suggest?"

  "Well, you see there's a more important matter than just a job to decide. I've got to know whether I should stay here for the sake of----" he hesitated for a word and then finished lamely, "my relatives. That's something I couldn't tell just of myself. If that's entirely out, and I've done all I'm supposed to do in that line, it's just as well that I should be far away from here. So I didn't want to get tangled with any worldly business like a job until that was settled."

  "I see," said Bruce, "but how are you going to decide that question? Are you planning to go and see them again?"

  Dana shook his head.

  "No, I don't see that. I've said all there was to say as an initiative. The rest is sort of up to them. I told the Lord if they made any move to come to me, if they showed the slightest interest, I'd stay till He showed me I ought to go. I said I'd wait a few days."

  "But they don't know where you are, do they? They didn't even ask, did they? Or did they?"

  "Yes," said Dana slowly. "My sister wanted to know where I was staying. I told her."

  "They didn't ask you to come to them?"

  "No," said Dana. "I wouldn't want to. I couldn't. Their life would be impossible for me. That is, unless there were some reason why the Lord wanted me there. But I'm sure now He doesn't. They wouldn't want me anyway. They would be terribly embarrassed by my presence."

  "Yes, I suppose so," said Bruce. "And I can imagine it would be more than uncomfortable for you. I can't imagine duty lying in that direction, at least not under the present circumstances. Well, the Lord will show you the way, I'm sure. Now, are we ready?"

  Then suddenly as if in answer to his question there came a knock at the door. It was a smart, peremptory knock, as if the visitor had a right and was used to giving orders.

  It was Bruce who answered it. Dana was over on the other side of the room putting on his overcoat. And Bruce stood there in the doorway, looking down in amazement at the beautiful girl who stood there so arrogantly.

  She lifted her eyes with an impatient frown and stared him full in the face, her lips half parted to speak, and then she could only stare. At last she mustered voice to speak.

  "Oh!" she said haughtily as if it were his fault that he was a stranger and not the one she sought. "Isn't this my brother's room? This is the number he gave me." And she looked the strange young man in the eyes and found him very pleasant to look at. Still there was resentment in her glance that he should be there instead of Dana.

  Bruce looked down, marveling first of all, fairly startled, that his friend's answer to his prayer had come so soon, even while they were speaking about it. For he knew instantly who this girl must be. She was too like Dana in feature and coloring to be anybody but his sister.

  Next he swept her with another glance and recognized something that Dana had not mentioned, perhaps had failed in his perturbation even to notice. The girl was startlingly beautiful.

  Of course, he had rather expected beauty of a sort, since she would be somewhat like Dana and he had always thought Dana the handsomest man he knew. There was a beauty of strength and of character, and a power of self-control in Dana that this girl did not have. Yet in spite of its lack she was beautiful.

  Surprisingly she wore no makeup, and there was a softness of nature about her face that perhaps Dana had not seen. It held Bruce's attention in a kind of surprised wonder during that instant they took note of each other. Then he replied, studying her meanwhile:

  "Yes, if Dana Barron is your brother, this is his room." Then throwing the door open wide he looked back toward Dana and announced formally, "Dana, your sister is calling."

  Bruce stepped aside to let her pass in and Dana came toward her as she entered, his hat in his hand.

  "Oh!" said the girl. "You were going out!" There was a tone of disappointment in her voice.

  "Yes, we were going out. We had an engagement," said Dana, "but of course if there is anything I can do for you--" He hesitated and glanced at Bruce and then back to the girl with a troubled look.

  "May I present my friend, Bruce Carbury," he said. "Bruce, this is my sister, Coralie."

  Bruce bowed gravely and stood waiting. Coralie gave a quick sharp look at her brother's friend, appraising him once more, deciding he was very good-looking in a grave, different way from most of her friends. She wondered what the type was like.

  "But I wanted to talk to you," she said with a childish pout, looking back at Dana.

  "I see," said Dana. "Well, is it a matter of haste? Could I meet you later somewhere? You see, this was a definite engagement. A man is expecting us."

  "Oh!" said Coralie with a quick flash of jealousy and another appraising glance at Bruce. "Well, I don't want to go home. Can't you take me with you?" Her young body stiffened almost as with anger, or fear.

  The two young men gave startled looks at each other.

  "I'm afraid you wouldn't be interested," he said quickly. "If you are anxious to see me at once I'll take you home, of course, right away. Bruce can carry my apologies," and he looked at Bruce again with a look that told him how much Dana wanted to go with him.

  "Certainly," said Bruce quietly. "But how do you know but your sister might be interested? Why don't you take her at her word and let her try? You can always leave if she doesn't like it."

  The calm quiet suggestion surprised Dana. Bruce wasn't a man who had any use for the kind of girl he knew his sister must be.

  "It doesn't matter in the least whether I'm interested or not. I'm going with you!" said the young woman with a quick little movement of her foot that in a foot less lovely would have been called stamping. "I came all this way to the ends of the earth to find you, and I'm not going to let you get away from me till I choose!"

  "Oh, well, that's all right then," said Dana shutting his lips in a decided way he had that made him and his sister suddenly look absurdly alike. "Shall we go?" And he reached up and snapped the light out in the room.

  Bruce stepped out into the hall, and Dana stepped aside to let his sister precede him. Then Bruce spoke.

  "Dana, if your sister wants to consult you about something, I can wait somewhere and let you have the room to yourselves, or I can go on ahead and make your apologies. Perhaps I shouldn't have butted in."

  "No!" said the girl with her pretty petulance again. "I'm going with you. Of course, I can see quite well that you don't either of you want me, but just for that reason I'm going anyway! I want to see what it is th
at's such a thrill for you both. No, Mr. Carbury, please don't tell me where we're going. I prefer to see it first without knowing anything about it."

  "All right, let her have her wish," said Dana with a sudden mirthless laugh. "Are we taking a taxi, or do we walk?"

  "It's not very far," said Bruce, "only about three or four blocks."

  "We'll walk, of course," said Coralie. "What a thrill. I never walked in this quarter of the city before, not at night anyway, but I'll do anything once."

  So they walked.

  Chapter 7

  The two young men walked one on either side of the girl, and she was rather intrigued to be taking such a walk. It really was a new experience for her. There were much more sordid neighborhoods than the one where they were walking, where she might have strolled along far after midnight with half-intoxicated escorts, and babbled with the rest noisily, taking it all as a part of their sophisticated condition, but this was different. Steady, quiet, plainly dressed people for the most part, going about their ordinary business or hunting cheap amusements, were thronging the way, but they were not dressed as she dressed when she went out for an evening. Suddenly she looked down at herself and then critically at the people she passed.

  "I never thought," she said, hesitating and glancing up daringly at her brother with a grimace, "perhaps I'm not dressed right for this affair we're going to. But you two were not wearing dinner coats."

  Dana glanced down at her.

  "You're quite all right," he said disinterestedly, noting the plain dark brown suit and little felt hat, with only a bright rainbow-colored scarf at her neck to give a touch of color.

  "Yes," said Bruce approvingly, "you look very nice. But it wouldn't matter anyway. People don't notice what you have on here."

  "Oh," said Coralie. "Bohemia, I suppose?"

  "Not exactly," said Bruce cryptically. Then he turned and led the way into a wide doorway and up a flight of wooden stairs to a hall.

  Coralie mounted the stairs, her eyes wide with wonder, expecting some kind of newfangled nightclub that started early.

  Then a burst of music swelled out the opening door, and it was thus they entered the Gospel Mission where Kirk Shannon presided.

  Coralie followed Bruce into the seat and sat down wonderingly, her brother sitting next to her by the aisle. They were halfway up to the platform, on the middle aisle, and the room was filling up rapidly now, the music drawing people from the street. But there was nothing in the music to tell Coralie what this gathering was. It was an entirely new kind of music. Nothing in her experience carried tunes like these, nor words, though she didn't pay much attention to the words at first. She caught the phrase "thrilling my soul" and supposed that this was some new love song that she hadn't heard before. She stared about on the gathering throng and wondered. These people, many of them, wore a different look from the men and girls she knew. Some, it is true, carried despondent faces, gloom and despair, but these were not the ones who were singing. The singers had a lightness and joy about them that surpassed anything in her experience. There was one girl, with ugly longish hair pinned up, neatly, it is true, but with hairpins of assorted sizes and makes, a dress that never had fitted her, and shoes that were down at the heel. She hadn't any hat at all and only a ragged old sweater for a wrap, yet there was a light in her eyes that made them beautiful, and a joy in her smile when she turned toward an old woman who might have been her mother, that gave Coralie a twinge of wistfulness. That girl looked happy in spite of everything. It must be there was some kind of a show here that they were all looking forward to eagerly, or there wouldn't have been so many here.

  There were more songs, catchy ones that haunted her memory after they were over. Then suddenly all heads were bowed.

  Not Coralie's. She sat staring around perplexedly. There were voices speaking in soft tones, here and there! What was this? Some weird rite in which they were all taking part? A strange upbringing had been hers in which prayer had had no part! She had never in her life gone to Sunday school, although she had lived all her life within the sound of church bells. She knew absolutely nothing of religion. Her mother had chosen for her, that she should grow up a lovely self-centered creature, without mind or thought for anything but amusement. Therefore she did not know how to class this place to which she had insisted upon coming.

  Bruce, watching her quietly, furtively, sometimes comparing her profile with the grave, sweet, troubled face of her brother, began to pray that God would reach her by His Spirit.

  But the girl he prayed for sat with wide-open eyes and stared.

  And now the order changed and people were on their feet here and there, telling a bit out of their past, telling with jubilance of victory over sin, of a mysterious new life that had come. Coralie didn't understand it in the least. She listened to one and another, now and again a bright young girl, or a strong young man, all with that same ring to their voices, that same light of triumph in their eyes. And sometimes it was an old sodden sinner with a kindling of hope in faded eyes, and a testimony of joy amid failure and loss and sorrow. Coralie listened as she had never listened to anything before, and as she listened a wistfulness came to her. Could it be possible that whatever it was these people had could bring joy to a set whose greatest pleasure was to get drunk, whose boast was in breaking all known laws, and whose highest thrill resulted in empty shame the next day?

  Without thinking it all out, her emotions recognized a relief from what she had known, a longing to try this new something, whatever it was, this something that her strange brother and his stranger friend had taken up, that made them different from the world's folk. She had forgotten to be restless. She had forgotten to plan what she would do with these two young men when this freak of theirs was over and she could claim attention and demand a reward for attending this odd gathering.

  The man who was leading the meeting was young and good-looking, too. He didn't have that jaded look so many of her companions habitually had. There was a freshness and life in his voice and a light in his eyes. And now he was talking:

  "I see an old friend down in the audience tonight," he declared suddenly, after they had sung another brief song. "I used to know him in college days. I visited his college for three days once and got to know him well. He had a lovely voice, and he used to sing in the meetings those college fellows used to have. If they wanted the Lord to touch hearts they would get Dana Barron to sing 'No One Ever Cared for Me Like Jesus.' And though I only heard him sing it three times, once out in the moonlight beside a new-made grave of one they loved, I have never forgotten it. I am sure he hasn't forgotten how to sing it, either. And though I haven't seen him in three years, and I haven't had a chance to speak with him, I'm going to ask Dana Barron to come up here now and sing that song for us. Will you come, Dana?"

  Dana sat quietly watching his old friend as he talked. The old college days trooped around him tenderly. He had forgotten that this was New York, a strange city. He had forgotten his sister, his alien sister sitting by his side. When Kirk Shannon asked him to come, he just answered the call as he used to answer it, and came.

  And his wild young sister sat in awe and watched him.

  Valerie Shannon was sitting at the piano, watching as he came down the aisle. Suddenly she knew that this was the man she had seen in the street a couple of days ago. And that was the girl who had been with him, walking down the avenue, that girl back there with whom he had been sitting!

  So, this was Dana Barron! The fellow Kirk had talked so much about.

  He was up on the platform now, and that sister of his, or wife, or girl, or whatever she was, was staring at him almost as if she were frightened, and most evidently wondering what was about to happen. If he was anything of a singer why should this girl be frightened?

  Valerie slid softly into the opening chords of the song, and Dana's voice rolled out deeply, sweetly, tenderly.

  "I would love to tell you what I think of Jesus

  Since I found in Him a f
riend so strong and true;

  I would tell you how He changed my life completely,

  He did something that no other friend could do.

  No one ever cared for me like Jesus,

  There's no other friend so kind as He;

  No one else could take the sin and darkness from me,

  O how much He cared for me!"

  By this time Valerie Shannon realized that she was accompanying a most unusual voice. Her fingers felt their way in perfect accord making a lovely setting for the voice, every note of which shone like a jewel from the golden run of the accompaniment.

  The audience was absolutely still, breathless, listening with hearts as well as ears.

  Coralie sat almost petrified with wonder, first at the beauty and resonance of her brother's voice, and then almost instantly caught and held by the words he was singing. For he seemed to be singing a bit out of his own experience and no ordinary experience, either. It seemed as if he were voicing the depths of every human heart there, the longings, the dissatisfaction, the need, and then the remedy. So! He had not always been like this, so different from other men! Something, someone, had come in and changed him!

  And as he sang, it seemed as though he were singing just to her, answering some of the questions she had come that night to ask. It was as if he were singing the answer to her own dissatisfaction and unhappiness. Giving her a hope that there was somewhere a solution to this problem called Life, that would make it possible to go on, that would still this horrible yearning within that everyone must have, though most were unwilling to acknowledge it.

  Tenderly the soft music swelled on and died away, and Dana's voice took up the story again:

  "All my life was full of sin when Jesus found me,

  All my heart was full of misery and woe;

  Jesus placed His strong and loving arms about me,

  And He led me in the way I ought to go."

  Was it possible that her brother with the heavenly look in his face knew what that feeling of misery was, understood the things that she had felt? That his life had been full of sin? She doubted that. She had never called it sin, what she had felt. Sin was murdering somebody, wasn't it, or stealing great sums of money? Or adultery? She had never heard people call other things sin, things that everybody did without thinking. Sin? Why, she was sure Dana had never been a sinner.