Читать книгу Hinds’ Feet on High Places - Hannah Hurnard - Страница 10

Flight in the Night

For hours poor Much-Afraid lay sleepless on her bed, too bruised in mind and body to rest in one position, but tossing and turning wearily from side to side until long after midnight. Somewhere at the back of her mind was a dreadful uneasiness, as though there was something she ought to remember, but was unable to do so. When at last she fell asleep this thought still haunted her.

She woke suddenly an hour or two later, her mind intensely alert, conscious of an agonizing pain such as she had never known before. The thorn in her heart was throbbing and aching in a manner she could scarcely bear. It was as though the pain was hammering out something which at first she was still too confused to be able to understand. Then, all of a sudden, in a terrible flash, it became clear to her, and she found herself whispering over and over again, “The Shepherd came and called me as he promised, but I didn’t go to him or give any answer. Supposing he thought that I had changed my mind and didn’t want to go with him. Supposing he has gone and left me behind! Gone without me! Yes, left me behind!”

The shock of this thought was awful. This was the thing she had forgotten. He would not be able to understand why she had not gone out to him as he had told her.

He had urged her to be ready to go with him the instant that he called, that there must be no delay, that he himself had to go to the mountains on urgent business. She had not been able to go even to the trysting place as usual that evening.

Of course he would think that she was afraid. Perhaps he was gone already and alone. Much-Afraid turned icy cold and her teeth chattered, but it was the pain in her heart which was the most awful part of her distress. It seemed to suffocate her as she lay there in bed. She sat up, shivering with cold and with the horror of the thought. She could not bear it if he had gone and left her behind.

On the table beside her lay the old song book. Glancing down at it in the light of the lamp, she saw it was open at the page whereon was written a song about another shepherdess. She, just like herself, had failed to respond to the call of love and then found, too late, that Love had gone away.

It had always seemed to her such a sad song that she could hardly read it, but now as she read the words again in the dark loneliness of the night, it seemed as though it was the cry of her own forlorn and terrified heart.

By night on my bed I sought him,

He whom my soul loveth so.

I sought—but I could not find him,

And now I will rise and go—

Out in the streets of the city,

And out on the broad highway;

For he whom my soul so loveth,

Hath left me and gone away.

The page in the little song book ended there, and she did not turn the leaf. Suddenly she could bear the uncertainty no longer. She must see for herself at once if he really had gone away and left her behind. She slipped out of bed, dressed herself as quickly as her shaking fingers would permit, and then unlocked the cottage door. She, too, would go out into the street and the broad highway and would see if she could find him, would see if he had gone and left her behind, or—oh, if only it were possible—if he had waited to give her another chance.

Opening the door, she went out into the darkness. A hundred Craven Fears lurking in the lonely street could not have deterred her at that moment, for the pain in her heart swallowed up fear and everything else and drove her forth. So in the dark hours, just before the dawn, Much-Afraid started off to look for the Shepherd.

She could not go quickly because of her lameness, but limped along the village streets toward the open fields and the sheepfolds. As she went she whispered to herself, “O Shepherd, when you said that Love and pain go together, how truly you spoke.”

Had she but known or even dimly sensed what it would be like, would she, could she, possibly have consented to let him put the thorn in her heart? It was too late now: it was there. Love was there and pain, too, and she must find the Shepherd. At last, limping and breathless, she came to the sheepfolds, still and silent in the dim starlight. One or two undershepherds were there, keeping watch over the flocks through the night, and when they heard footsteps approaching they rose up from the ground and went to meet the intruder.

“Who are you?” they challenged her in the darkness, then stared in amazement as their lanterns flashed on the white face and frightened eyes of Much-Afraid.

“Is the Chief Shepherd here?” she gasped as she leaned against the wall of the sheepfold, panting and trying to recover her breath.

“No,” said the watchman, staring at her curiously. “He left the flocks in our charge this night and gave his orders. He said that he had to make a journey to the mountains, as he often does, and did not say when he would be back.”

Much-Afraid could not speak. She moaned and pressed her hands to her heart, feeling as though it would break. What could she do now? He was gone. He had thought that she did not want to go and had not waited for her. Then, aching with despair, as she leaned tremblingly against the wall of the fold, she remembered the Shepherds face and the loving-kindness of the look with which he had invited her to accompany him to the mountains.

It came to her mind that he who understood her so well, who knew all about her fears and had compassion on her, would not leave until he was quite sure that she really meant to refuse to go with him. She lifted her eyes, looked across the Valley toward the eastern mountains and the High Places. A faint streak of light was appearing in the east, and she knew that soon the sun would rise. Suddenly she remembered the last verse of the sad song which she had read, the last verse on the page which she had not waited to turn over. It came whispering into her mind just as a little bird began to sing in one of the bushes beside her.

And then—in the dawn I saw him,

He whom my heart loveth so.

I found him, held him and told him

I never could let him go.

(Cant. 3:1-5)

Much-Afraid ceased trembling and said to herself, “I will go to the trysting-place, and see if he is waiting for me there.” With scarcely a word to the watchmen she turned and hurried southward, over the field where Craven Fear had met her toward the sheep pool. Almost forgetting that she was lame, she sped toward the distant trees which fringed the pool.

Just as the sky turned red above the mountains, the joyous, babbling sound of cascading water reached her ears, and as she hurried forward Much-Afraid suddenly found a cascade of song pouring forth from her own heart. He was there, standing by the pool, looking toward her with the light of the sunrise shining on his face. As Much-Afraid stumbled toward him, he stepped quickly to her side and she fell at his feet sobbing, “O my Lord, take me with you as you said. Don’t leave me behind.”

“I knew you would come,” he said gently, “but Much-Afraid, why were you not at the trysting-place last evening? Did you not hear me when I passed your cottage and called? I wanted to tell you to be ready to start with me this morning at sunrise.” As he spoke the sun rose fully over the peaks of the mountains and bathed them both in a lovely golden light.

“I am here,” said Much-Afraid, still kneeling at his feet, “and I will go with you anywhere.”

Then the Shepherd took her by the hand and they started for the mountains.