Free Coming Through the Rye by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

around her father’s eyes and lips, that she suddenly realized now were deeper and more anxious than they had ever been? Had they been wholly on account of Lawrence?
    But her shocked senses could not reason. She swept such thoughts away and stood there praying.
    â€œOh God! Oh—God!”
    But she could think of no words further than merely to cry out that she was in dire need. As she had just told the young man, there was always God, and now all at once she knew there was
only
God. If all this was true that they were charging on her father and brother, there would not be other friends. Of course, there might be some who would be willing to share her disgrace but none that she would wish to drag down to so low a level. No, she would have to face this thing alone and bear what the world gave her. There would be God, and she must just keep on crying till she knew He heard, and let Him do His will. She had no power in her even to suggest what He should do. She did not know what to ask for. She dared not ask that it might all be a dream, and that morning would bring sweetness and sanity and a fair future once more. She had too much good common sense to deceive herself into any such hope or possibility. She must just cry till she felt God heard and then wait till He helped. If they might only all have died before this happened!
    In the course of time the door opened silently, and a doctor came out, almost falling over her as she stood crouched close. Her eyes asked leave to go to her father, and he half waved assent, eyeing her curiously, sadly, as she slid like a wraith over to the bed and down upon her knees, taking the cold resistless hand in her warm one and laying her lips against it.
    One look at his face told her he was no better. The features were even more drawn than she remembered them, yet she knew he was not dead. She could see by the faces of the nurse and the other doctor that they were still doing things for him, and when she lifted her eyes to the doctor who came near the bed and asked if she might speak to her father, he shook his head.
    â€œHe can’t hear you,” he said. “He’s unconscious. Later he may rally. They do sometimes.”
    The tone was kind but merciless. Romayne sensed that everything after this was to be merciless. She must just understand that.
    There was a long period when she knelt there trying to think, wondering if she had prayed as hard as she ought to have done, seeking vainly for a way out of this terrible situation, a friend upon whom she might really rely.
    Downstairs the telephone rang several times, and a man’s voice answered in low tones. Twice she heard the front door open and close and voices in the hall, but it seemed to be no concern of hers. Others were in charge. She must remain here until something came, though she knew not what.
    Now and again the thought of her brother wrenched through the blank of her mind and gave her pain, her bright handsome brother of whom she and her father had been so proud! Surely, surely they must be mistaken about Lawrence. He was always so happy and so ready for a good time. Only that morning they had been talking about the car they were going to get and the long trip they were going to take when his vacation came. He had told her how he was staying out late to earn more money. She had pictured him working hard over the books of the tailor who pressed his suits for him, and spending hours at the invoices in a little grocery store where the proprietor didn’t understand bookkeeping very well and had taken a fancy to Lawrence. Several times in the past months Lawrence had told about “helping out” these humble men and receiving a few extra dollars in return. Surely, surely they were mistaken about Lawrence’s having anything to do with this terrible business. Surely, if it were true at all, it was only Father, and he had done it for love of them. Poor Father! He wanted to give them beautiful