Did He do it?
Did He hear your prayer?
Does He care for your weak love, when the nations of the earth are going down?
What is your poor hope to Him, when the very land you live in is a wine-press that will be trodden some day by the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God?
O Christ!--if there be a Christ,--help me to save it!" He looked up,--his face white with pain.

After a time he said to her,-- "Help me, Margret! Your prayer was selfish; it was not heard.

Give up your idle hope that Christ will aid you.

Swear to me, this night when you have lost all, to give yourself to this work." The storm had been dark and windy: it cleared now slowly, the warm summer rain falling softly, the fresh blue stealing broadly from behind the gray.

It seemed to Margret like a blessing; for her brain rose up stronger, more healthful.
"I will not swear," she said, weakly.