The Efficacy of Faith.

That night George and Betty never left Alma's bedside. White and still she lay, and George's anxiety was great.

A trained nurse had already arrived for Harold, so he tried to persuade Betty to return home with Edgeway.

But she refused, and as she said "good-bye" to Edgeway, she said,

"You can understand how I am needed here tomorrow. I am sorry to break my engagement with you."

"O, that is of little account," he replied with genuine sympathy. "Perhaps Thursday you can go with me to witness the great military parade."

"We will see," she said with a grave smile. "I can think of nothing but her now."

And she returned to watch by Alma.

George observed her endurance with wonder.

The following morning there was no change in Alma.

"I fear the worst," he said to Betty, in a husky voice. "The shock was more than she could stand. I shall call a consultation."

Betty's eyes filled with tears, but she made no answer.

"Are you able to keep up?" he asked of her.

"O, yes, for anything I can do!" she replied earnestly.

"Then go to Harold for awhile, and try to make him think lightly of this. The nurse says he is constantly asking for his mother."

Betty went to Harold, and stayed with him a long time.

Meanwhile the doctors consulted together in fearful earnestness.

When she finally heard them leave the house, she went softly to Alma's room.

George was leaning over Alma, gazing at her with a countenance so full of sorrowing, that Betty guessed the decision.

He looked up at her as she entered.

"We agree there is no hope," he said with that stern gravity she understood now.

"You can do nothing?" she asked quickly.

"Absolutely nothing. It is just a question of time. Her heart is very weak."

Betty approached him and laid one hand upon his arm pleadingly.

"O, Dr. Cadman," she said earnestly,—and he thought he had never seen her so radiantly beautiful before—"You can do nothing, you say,—but with God all things are possible!"

"Yes," he said, not fully understanding, "we must leave her to Him now. All human efforts are in vain."

"But did not Christ command us to heal the sick? If it were impossible, why would he tell us to do so?"

For a moment he looked at her curiously.

"You are pleading for your Mormon Elders?" he asked gently.

"Yes. Cannot they come? Alma would wish it."

Her eyes, luminous with faith, thrilled him.

"I do not believe very firmly in that kind of healing, but I appreciate your enthusiasm."

"But will you give your permission?" she asked eagerly.

"Why not pray yourself?" he returned.

"Let us take God's way," she replied with sincere humility.

"As you wish, Betty," he returned tenderly.

"O, thank you," she said with a great joy,—and in her zeal to save Alma, she forgot her own struggles entirely.

***********

George was alone in the library, pondering over the advisability of bringing Will to see Alma. It would complicate matters greatly, for Will to be seen at the house, and he might not even get to her in time to see her alive. But it was right to call him. He could not argue that fact away. He decided to go, himself, and bring Will as soon as possible.

Just at the moment of his decision, Betty entered.

"Dr. Cadman," she said with a great calm joy, "our dear Alma has awakened from her long sleep. She asks for you."

For a moment he looked at her incredulously. Then eagerly he took her hands.

"Thank God!" he exclaimed earnestly, and hastened to Alma.

As he approached her bed-side, the pale face on the pillow smiled up at him.

"Am I ill?" she asked, lifting a weak hand from the coverlet.

He took it and kissed it gently.

"Just a little," returned George soothingly, "Don't waste strength by talking, dear."

She looked at the elders standing by, regarding the scene with sympathy; then her gaze wandered to Betty.

"Dear Betty, always with us in trouble," she murmured.

Her brow contracted, and she tried to think.

Then she looked around with a bright smile.

"Ah! I remember now—the shock of Harold's accident upset me awfully, did it not? No wonder! But the dear boy is safe now."

She closed her eyes in weakness.

"Try to sleep dear," Walter said.

In silence they watched her sink into a quiet, restful slumber.

George carefully listened to her heart—then he walked towards the door and beckoned the others to follow.

When they were outside the room, he said to them:

"She remembers nothing of the cause of her prostration. I have had cases where they do not recall it for weeks. We must not allude to it in any manner. There certainly is great hope now. Her heart is stronger—and no stimulants! Assuredly your prayers have been answered!"

"To God be the glory!" exclaimed one of the elders fervently.

George looked at his shining countenance with a puzzled admiration.

"And do you really believe, that had you two not administered to Mrs. Cadman, her condition would have remained unchanged?"

"That is not for me to say," he answered gravely.

"Well, to put it differently, how can your prayers change the course of nature?"

"It is not given to us to know God's methods," returned the elder promptly. "He is the creator of all—does he not, therefore, control his own? It is simply our part to obey. Christ's commands are simple, unquestionable. His is the power and the glory that we but reflect!"

From this man's speaking with the tone of authority, George turned to Betty. Her expressive countenance glowed with enthusiasm.

"Your arguments are good,—and your faith is enviable," said George, impressed.

The next few days Alma steadily improved. But Betty did not leave her until she was almost herself. By that time, Harold was wheeled into her room daily.

There they talked and read of the Hudson-Fulton celebration, and the hours passed quickly for the active boy.

It was Sunday when Betty at last returned home. Everyone of the little group greeted her warmly.

In her room, she found a beautiful bunch of American Beauties—the card attached was Edgeway's.

A knock at the door seemed to answer her thought,—for, with a pleasant "Come in," Edgeway entered.

"Is this evening mine?" he asked smiling.

"O yes! Will you take me out for a nice long walk? I would appreciate the fresh evening air immensely."

"And my company, too," he said laughing.

"Of course," she returned brightly.

After tea, at which time her friends were unusually lively and talkative, she left the house with Edgeway. She did not feel in harmony with the eager crowds and gay brilliancy of the illuminated city, but she felt anxious to please him, so she put all thoughts of George and Alma temporarily from her.

Edgeway was in one of his gayest moods.

"This is great!" he exclaimed as they started. "To really, really feel the realism of your presence!"

She looked up at him smiling. In these moods, he seemed to her, like a big, happy boy.

"I'm glad such a little makes you joyous," she returned.

"Such a little! Perhaps if you knew the immensity of my pleasure, you would not regard it so lightly," he said gaily.

It seemed to Betty, he could hardly contain his exuberance of spirits. Talking rapidly, remarking every detail of the illuminations and the crowd, he completely engrossed her attention, and she was surprised at her own enjoyment of the evening.

They returned about eleven o'clock, and not until they were nearing home, did Edgeway cease to be lively.

For several minutes he did not speak, and she looked up into his face, to discover a gloom gathering in his eyes.

"What troubles you?" she asked, kindly.

"All good things have an end," he returned with a sigh. "This evening seemed quite long when it began,—but it's gone already," he added crossly.

"What a spoiled boy you are," she said laughing, amused at his erratic moods. "There is always another beginning, you know. I will go again, and again, and again!"

"Will you?" he asked eagerly, and the sunny smile came back.

***********

Monday morning, Betty resumed her regular school work. On her return in the evening, a special delivery awaited her.

She knew George's hand-writing, and opened it quickly.

"Dear Betty,

"I have determined suddenly to take Alma and Harold away for a change. Will start tomorrow morning early. We may be gone a long time, so try to call tonight. We wish to bid you 'good-bye.'

"Yours in haste,

"George."

With an odd mixture of feelings, Betty went to Alma's home.

She found her anxiously awaiting Betty.

"I was so afraid you might miss our letter, dear," she said. "I couldn't be happy in going, without saying 'Good-bye' to you."

"Are you going for long, then?" Betty asked, feeling a sudden lonesomeness coming over her.

"I don't know. The truth is, Betty, I am nearly strong, but I find myself so continually lost in a painful effort at thinking,—I'm trying to remember something—I don't know what,—but it worries me, until I almost cry with disappointment. George says it is my nerves, and if he does not take me away directly, he fears I will be ill again."

Betty took her hands lovingly.

"Perhaps it is best. Dr. Cadman always knows best," she said with a slight flush. "You must write to me often, dear, and let me know directly you return."

That night George took Betty home. When they reached the door, he said,

"I will not come in, for I have much to prepare for the trip."

"I hope it will benefit you all," returned Betty, suddenly realizing that their going was a new trial to her.

"I expect great things to happen before I see you again," he said earnestly, "It would not be honorable for me to even mention my plans, but"—he stopped abruptly, and held out his hand "Good-bye," he said, gravely.

"Good-bye," she said, trembling.

He held her hand for a moment; then, dropping it slowly, he reached over and rang the bell.

Quickly the door was opened by Edgeway.

George, raising his hat, walked rapidly away.

"I have been waiting for you," said Edgeway, smiling down at her.

She looked up at him with sudden pity.

"He seems always lonesome for me," she thought, "and now I am lonesome, too."

Then she said impulsively, "The rest of this week is yours."

"Thank you," he said warmly, and his eyes shone with a fervor that suddenly brought a question to her mind.