And Mrs. Harricutt put up her apron to her eyes and entered the little
haircloth parlor, while Tom, with a wry face went after the elder. The
elder proved that underneath all his narrowness and prejudice he had a
grain of the real truth, for he prayed with fervor that the Lord would
cleanse their hearts from all prejudice and open their minds to see
with heavenly vision that they might have power in prayer for the
healing of the two men.
So, through the whole little village breaches were healed, and a more
loving feeling prevailed because the bond of anxiety and love held them
all together and drew them nearer to their God.
At last the day came when Mark, struggling up out of the fiery pit of
pain, was able to remember.
Pain, fire, flame, choking gases, smoke, remorse, despair! It was all
vague at first, but out of it came the memory slowly. There had been a
fire. He had gone back up the ladder after Mrs. Blimm's baby. He
remembered groping for the child in the smoke filled room, and bringing
it blindly through the hall and back to the window where the ladder
was, but that room had all been in flames. He had wished for a wet
cloth across his face. He could feel again the licking of the fire as
he passed the doorway. A great weight had been on his chest. His heart
seemed bursting. His head had reeled, and he had come to the window
just in time. Some one had taken the child--was it Billy?--or he would
have fallen. He did fall. The memory pieced itself out bit by
bit. He remembered thinking that he had entered the City of Fire
literally at last, "the minarets" already he seemed to descry "gleaming
vermilion as if they from the fire had issued." It was curious how
those old words from Dante had clung in his memory. "Eternal fire that
inward burns." He thought he was feeling now in his body what his soul
had experienced for long months past. It was the natural ending, the
thing he had known he was coming to all along, the road of remorse and
despair. A fire that goes no more out! And this would last forever now!
Then, someone, some strong arm had lifted him--God's air swept in--and
for an instant there seemed hope. But only that little breath of
respite and there came a cry like myriads of lost souls. They were
falling, falling, down through fire, with fire above, below, around,
everywhere. Down, down,--an abysmal eternity of fire, till his seared
soul writhed from his tortured body, and stood aside looking on at
himself.