03 The Way of The Cross

Chapter 3 THE WAY OF THE CROSS From New York Miss Reed proceeded to London. She brought with her letters of introduction to two eminent specialists, who both confirmed the decision of the American physician. During her brief stay in England, she was thrown into contact with a young countrywoman of her own, who was, moreover, as Miss Reed had been, a public school-teacher (from New England) and an earnest Christian. To her were permitted some days of close intercourse with this devoted sufferer which must have been inspiring as an experience, and must remain precious as a memory. I have the advantage of quoting from an account of these days, written by this sympathizing companion. She says : "I wondered instinctively at the ivory pallor of that sweet face, and at the cruel spot that disfigured it, so different from anything I had ever seen. I wondered, too, as the days went by, why the forefinger, always covered with a white cot, refused to yield to healing remedies." Miss Reed’s suggestion that she should continue her journey toward Brindisi, in the company of the small party of whom her friend was one, was readily acceded to, although they doubted her ability to travel with the rapidity of the average American tourist, which was, perforce, their rate of progression.

Grateful as her sad heart was for this sympathetic companionship, so grateful that she said, "I think God has sent you here in answer to my prayer," she did not yet confide the knowledge of her secret sorrow to her friend. What a pathos the circumstances give to their visit to Canterbury ! Centuries had passed since the last leper pilgrim had approached the tomb of the martyred Becket. Old historians have minutely recorded how in bygone days all sorts and conditions of sufferers from this terrible scourge made their weary way hither in the hope of being healed. But if Mary Reed followed in the far-off steps of Henry Le Pomerai, the wealthy Norman Knight, of the noble kinsman of Roderick, King of Connaught, and of the long procession of nameless and obscure sufferers whose knees wore away the stones of the shrine, it was not with the hope of leaving behind the heavy cross she had so bravely accepted. May we not say, as we believe she would say, that some better thing was reserved for her? To minister, as a very angel of mercy, to the souls and bodies of her fellow-sufferers with a sympathy, and with a success, perhaps only possible to one similarly afflicted, will, in the day of the " Inasmuch," be recognized as a higher good than even healing would have been. Describing their visit to Canterbury, Miss Reed’s companion writes : " Under the smiling English skies we walked up to St. Martin’s, the little church whose memories go back at least 1,300 years. Near the chancel, the English lassie, who guided us, stopped, and, pointing to an opening in the thick wall, said, "That is the lepers’ squint." This was the orifice through which the poor sufferers, creeping to the sanctuary in olden times, were allowed to listen from without to the words of life, or behold what they could of the worship within. If I had known then what I knew afterward, my heart would have bled for the woman at my side. Calmly she stood there before us with a heavenly light in her eyes, not a muscle of her face betraying her heart’s secret."

During one of their hours of intimate intercourse, this friend, still unacquainted with the true motive for Miss Reed’s return to India, ventured to question the wisdom of such a course in view of her evident bodily weakness. But it was a brave reply that came from the quivering lips : " My Father knows the way I go, and I am sure it is the right way." It was in Paris that this sister, whose sympathy had been so sweet to her suffering companion, was at length permitted to share her sad secret. The incident is best described in her own touching words :

" On memory’s walls there will hang while time lasts for me the picture of that scene. A wax taper burned dimly on the table beside her open Bible, that Book of all books from whose pages she received daily consolation ; and while, without, Paris was turning night to day with light and music and wine, within, Mary Reed’s gentle voice, faltering only at her mother’s name and coming sorrow, told the secret of her affliction.

’’As my throbbing heart caught its first glimpse of her meaning, I covered my face to shut out the swiftly rising vision of her future, even to the bitter end, and almost in agony I cried out, ’ O, not that ! — do not tell me that has come to you ! ’ And when, in calmer moments, I said that every Christian ought to unite in prayer for her recovery, her only response was, ’ I have not yet received any assurance of healing; perhaps I can serve my Father better thus.’

" I come with sorrow to my last evening with Miss Reed. I sat in the shadow, and she, where the full moon rising over the snowy mountains just touched, with a glory that loved to linger, her pale, sweet face. Again I hear her voice in song :

" Straight to my home above, I travel calmly on, And sing in life or death, My Lord, Thy will be done."

" And with the anticipation of our parting on the morrow, she told me of her last hours in her western home, of her father’s farewell breathed out in his morning prayer, telling the All-Father and the heart of his daughter the sorrow that, for her sake, should be repressed ; how, upheld by a strength not her own, she went out as if some day she might return, and then hastened on to the land of her exile.

"On the shores of lovely Lake Lucerne, hand clasped in hand for the last time on earth, and with eyes blinded by gathering tears, our farewell was whispered : "God be with you till we meet again." And in this spirit of consecration, and with the Christlike resolve that her affliction should not hinder her usefulness, but rather triumphing over it, she went her way, alone, yet assuredly not alone, returning to India, as she herself had said, " under conditions in which no other missionary ever returned."