Always there was the Presence!
There was a bandage over his eyes for days; people speaking in whispers;
and when the bandage was taken away there were the white hospital walls,
so like the walls of smoke at first in the dim light, high above him.
When he had grown to understand it was but hospital walls, he looked
around for the Presence in alarm, crying out, "Where is He?"
Bill Ward and Tennelly and Pat were there, huddled in a group by the
door, hoping he might recognize them.
"He's calling for Steve!" whispered Pat, and turned with a gulp while
the tears rolled down his cheeks. "He must have seen him go!"
The nurse laid him down on the pillow again, replacing the bandage. When
he closed his eyes the Presence came back, blessed, sweet--and he was at
peace.
The days passed; strength crept back into his body, consciousness to his
brain. The bandage was taken off once more, and he saw the nurse and
other faces. He did not look again for the Presence. He had come to
understand he could not see it with his eyes; but always it was there,
waiting, something sweet and wonderful. Waiting to show him what to do
when he was well.
The memorial services had been held for Stephen Marshall many days, the
university had been draped in black, with its flag at half-mast, the
proper time, and its mourning folded away, ere Paul Courtland was able
to return to his room and his classes.
They welcomed him back with touching eagerness.
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