_At Lourdes. Two Weeks Later._

Speaking of miracles, I am living among them. I am working in the _Bureau de Constatations_ where the _miracules_--those who are supposed to have been miraculously healed--are questioned and examined by doctors, Catholics, Protestants, Agnostics, Atheists, who come from all over the world to investigate these cures from the standpoint of a religion or pure science. What sights I have seen! Men and women of all ages and walks of life testifying that the waters of the sacred grotto have freed them from this or that malady, from tumors, lameness, deafness, blindness, tuberculosis, nervous trouble and numerous other afflictions. By thousands and tens of thousands these unfortunates crowd here from the four corners of the earth, an endless procession of believers, and every year sees scores of the incurable cured, instantly cured--even the sceptical admit this, although they interpret the facts differently. Some say it is auto-suggestion, others speak of ma.s.s hypnotism, others regard it as a scientific phenomenon not yet understood like the operation of the X-rays. And many wise men are satisfied with the simple explanation that it is the work of G.o.d, manifested today for those who have faith exactly as in Bible times.

I was stabbed with poignant memories this afternoon when a tall black-bearded peasant told the doctors that his father, who accompanied him, and who had been insane, a violent neurasthenic, shut up in an asylum for four years, had been restored by the blessed waters to perfect health and had shown no abnormality of body or mind for eight years. These statements were verified by scientists and doctors.

Eight years! If I really believe in the permanent recovery of this poor man, as the doctors do, why am I doubtful about my own permanent recovery? The answer is that I am not doubtful for myself, but for Christopher. He might reason like this, he might say to himself--he is so loyal that he would die rather than say it to me: "I know Penelope has been restored to her normal condition of mind, but that normal condition includes a strong inherited and developed tendency towards--certain things,"--my cheeks burn with shame as I write this.

"How do I know that this tendency in her, even if she remains herself, will not make trouble again--for both of us?"

How could Christopher be sure about this?

_He could not be sure!_

So I did right to leave him.

CHAPTER XX

THE MIRACLE

(_From Penelope's Diary_)

_Lourdes. A Week Later._

Today, with a mult.i.tude of the afflicted, I bathed in the _piscine_, a long trough filled with holy water from the grotto. The water was cold and not very clean (for hours it had received bodies carrying every disease known to man), but as I lay there, wrapped in a soaking ap.r.o.n and immersed to the head, I felt an indescribable peace possessing my soul. Was it the two priests who held my hands and encouraged me with kindly eyes? Was it the shouts and rejoicings, the continual prayers of pilgrims all about me? Or was it a sudden overwhelming sense of my own unworthiness, of my ingrat.i.tude and lack of faith and a rush of new desire to begin my life all over again, to forget my selfish repining?

Whatever it was I know that as I arose from the bath and bowed before the statue of the Blessed Virgin, I was caught by a spiritual fervor that seemed to lift me in breathless ecstasy.

A young woman who was blind stood beside me, splashing water from a hand basin upon her reddened, sightless eyelids, and praying desperately.

Together with her I prayed as I never had prayed, crying the words aloud, over and over again, as she did, while tears poured down my cheeks:

"_Oh, Marie, concue sans peche, priez pour nous qui avons recours a vous!_"

As I came away and started back to the _Bureau_, walking slowly under the blazing Pyrenees sun, I knew that an extraordinary change had taken place in me. I was not the same woman any more. I would never again be the same woman. I was like the child I knew about that had been miraculously cured of infantile paralysis; or like the widow I had spoken to who had been miraculously cured of a fistula in the arm that had been five times vainly operated upon; or like the old woman I had seen who had been miraculously cured of an "incurable" tumor that had caused her untold suffering for twenty-two years. I was a _miraculee_, like these others, hundreds of others, one more case that would be carefully noted down by skeptical investigators on their neatly ruled sheets, _if only the mysteries of a sick soul could be revealed_!

Suddenly a great burst of singing drew my attention to the open s.p.a.ce beyond the gleaming white church with its sharp-pointed towers, and I drew nearer, pushing my way through a dense mult.i.tude gathered to witness the procession of pilgrims and the Blessing of the Sick. In all the world there is no such sight as this, nothing that can stir the human soul so deeply. Inside the concourse, fringing the great crowds, lay the afflicted--on litters, on reclining chairs, on blankets spread over the ground; standing and kneeling, men, women and children from all lands and of all stations, pallid-faced, emaciated, suffering, dying, brought here to supplicate for help when all other help has failed them.

"_Seigneur, nous vous adorons!_" chanted a priest with golden voice and ten thousand tongues responded:

"_Seigneur, nous vous adorons!_"

"_Jesus, Fils de Marie, ayez pitie de nous!_" came the inspired cry.

"_Jesus, Fils de Marie, ayez pitie de nous!_" crashed the answer.

"_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_"

"_Hosanna! Hosanna au Fils de David!_" thundered the mult.i.tude, and the calm hills resounded.

It was an immense, an indescribable moment, not to be resisted. I felt myself literally in the presence of G.o.d, and choking, almost dying with emotion, I waited for what was to come.

Suddenly at the far end of the crowd a great shouting started and spread like a powder-train, with a violent clapping of hands.

"A miracle! A miracle!" the cries proclaimed.

They told me afterwards that five miraculous cures were accomplished at this moment, but I knew nothing about it. My eyes were closed. I had fallen to my knees in the dust and was sobbing my heart out, not in grief but in joy, for _I knew_ that all was well with me now and would be in the days to come. I knew that Christopher would be restored to me, and that I would be allowed to make him happy. There would be no more doubt or fear in either of us--only love. _I knew this!_

As I knelt there filled with a spirit of infinite faith and serenity, it seemed as if, above the tumult of the crowd, I heard my name spoken gently--"Penelope!"

I knew, of course, that it could not be a real voice, for I was a stranger here, yet there was nothing disturbing to me in this illusion.

It came rather like a comforting benediction, as if some higher part of me had inwardly expressed approval of my prayerful aspirations, and had confirmed my belief that Christopher would be restored to me.

"Penelope!" the voice spoke again, this time with unmistakable distinctness, and now I opened my eyes and saw Seraphine standing before me.

"Seraphine! Where did you come from? I thought you were in America--in New York."

Smiling tenderly she helped me to my feet and led me away from the mult.i.tude.

"Let us go where we can talk quietly," she said.

"We will go to the hospice, where I am staying," I replied, not marvelling very much, but more than ever filled with the knowledge that G.o.d was guiding and protecting me.

"This has been a wonderful day for me, Seraphine," I told her when we came to my room, "the most wonderful day in my whole life."

"I know, dear," she answered calmly, as if nothing could surprise her either.

Then I explained everything that had happened--why I had left America so suddenly, why I had felt that I must never see Christopher again.

"But you don't feel that way any more?" she asked me with a look of strange understanding in her deep eyes.

"No," said I, "everything is changed now. My fears are gone. I see that I must count upon Christopher to have the same faith and courage that I have in my own heart. Why should I expect to bear the whole burden of our future? He must bear his part of it. The responsibility goes with the love, doesn't it? I saw that this afternoon--it came to me like a flash when the procession pa.s.sed. Isn't it wonderful?

"Dear child, the working of G.o.d's love for His children is always wonderful. This is a place of miracles"--she paused as if searching into my soul--"and the greatest miracle is yet to come."

I felt the color flooding to my cheeks.

"What do you mean?"

"I must go back a little, Penelope, and tell you something important.

You haven't asked about Captain Herrick."

"Is he--is he well?" I stammered.

She shook her head ominously.