The Winepress. Christine Beals
"Well, she will not cling to anything in this world much longer unless she changes her course," was his gruff rejoinder. He saw the pain in Mr. Thorpe's face, and noted the look of fear that leaped into his eyes; but it did not affect him. Other people's troubles never caused him a moment's concern. He often assured himself that a man who ministered to the ills of the human family needed a level head and a good hard heart to go with it.
Pauline, who overheard the conversation, made no mention of it to Mrs. Thorpe, but said:
"I cannot understand how Dr. Eldrige holds his popularity. He seems a rough, unfeeling man."
"He has the reputation of being the best physician in town," Mrs. Thorpe replied. "I always feel that I dare not be ill any longer after I have faced him. I have heard, too, that he treats his patients most skillfully when he is partially under the influence of liquor."
"I do not see how you and Maurice dare trust him, Evelyn. The human organism at the mercy of a half-drunken man! This, to me, seems like a terrible thing."
"You lose sight of the main facts, Pauline, and cavil at minor things. We of the human family must have a physician; with our sensitive bodies, our nerves so finely adjusted to feel the slightest discord, and to sting and quiver with pain, we must have a physician. Providence sends our ills, and it takes a skillful physician to correct them, and so if only he be skillful, there is nothing else that counts."
This was not the first time that Pauline had detected a strain of covert bitterness in Mrs. Thorpe's speech, and the tone in which she spoke more than the words alone troubled her now. In her philosophy all that which she could not understand was "Providence," and to yield to the iron Hand of it was the whole duty of a Christian. Yet there was a tone of pleading, rather than anything dictatorial, in her voice as she replied:
"We can trust the hand of Providence, Evelyn, whatever of pain and sickness comes to us."
There was a slight uneasiness in Mrs. Thorpe's manner and her breath fluttered in her throat:
"It is hard to be quiet under the rod, sometimes, Pauline."
"God knows what is best for us, dear. You do not believe that one moment's pain or suffering comes to you without His knowledge and consent."
At just this time Mrs. Thorpe's mental condition was such that every word of Pauline's was to her soul as red hot steel to the quivering flesh. Her breath fluttered and caught; there was a haze before her eyes. She felt herself possessed of two distinct personalities. She heard her answer to Pauline:
"Yes, I try to trust Him." But the second personality, forceful, insistent--what wildness, what frenzy was this?
"There is no God! There is no power in Heaven above, nor in Hell below, nor on this earth, that has a right to create a man and then by slow degrees to torture him to death! To rot the flesh from living bones, to crush and pollute and deform! It is not true! If this is God--cursed be God! If this is the Christ--"
With a strong effort, a quick, nervous movement, she recovered herself. She felt a wild impulse to fly from the room, from the house, but most of all from herself.
Pauline was by her side, with her cool hand on her forehead.
"What is it, Evelyn?" she asked. "Are you ill?"
"Only a spell of giddiness, I think, and my head feels badly. I will go to my room and lie down for a time."
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