Astra (3 page)

He led her into the dining car and chose a table where he could watch anyone entering at the other end and where they would be far enough from other diners so that their conversation would not be heard. After the preliminaries of ordering were over, he leaned across the table and began to talk quietly.

“Now,” he said with a pleasant, businesslike smile, “my name is Charles Cameron. My business office happens to be next door to the office of G. J. Faber, our sick man. I know him personally only slightly. We meet occasionally. By reputation I know him well. He is highly respected.”

Cameron studied the face of the girl before him as she watched him while he talked. He decided she was taking in every word he said and comparing it with her impression of the sick man.

The waiter arrived just then with their order, and there was no more conversation for a few minutes till he was gone.

“Mr. Faber got on the train at Chicago,” went on the young man, “with his wife and a lot of luggage. He had the section opposite mine. He looked up after he was settled and nodded casually to me, as he always does when we meet. After that, we didn’t pay any further attention to one another. His wife was occupying the center of the stage and there was no opportunity. I was reading. I dimly realized that they were having some kind of a discussion, though she was doing most of the talking, and presently she went off in the direction of the diner. That seems a long time ago to me now. But I fancy she took her time. And then, too, she would be one who demanded a good deal of service in a diner, which explains her long absence during our most strenuous time.”

The waiter came back to refill their water glasses, and when he left, Cameron went on.

“The wife hadn’t been gone but a very few minutes before Mr. Faber reached over and touched me on the arm. He said he was sick, would I help him? He wanted a doctor and a stenographer. That is how it all began. The porter said there was a rather famous doctor on board, and he brought the nurse. Now I ought to tell you that I’m afraid there is a little more involved in this than just copying those notes. We’ve probably got to appear before a notary and swear to all this, you know. That is, if he dies, and the doctor seems to think there is no hope for him. But I thought I had better prepare you for the next act. Are you game?”

He watched her somewhat anxiously, and she suddenly smiled.

“Of course,” she said gently. “Would it be likely to take long? But that wouldn’t matter. I was planning to stay in the city for a few days at least. And my time is not important just now.”

“Well, that certainly is accommodating of you. You know, of course, that this won’t be any expense to you, and there will be some remuneration for your services. Mr. Faber gave me money to cover all such items when he first asked me to help.”

“But I wasn’t expecting remuneration,” said Astra. “I was glad to help someone in distress.”

“Well, that makes it nice,” said Cameron, “but there will be remuneration. And now, may I know your name? It might be convenient, you know, before we are through with this business.”

“I am Astra Everson,” said the girl. “And perhaps I ought to tell you that I am not a regular stenographer. Although I’ve had good training, I have never done that work for anybody but my father.”

“I don’t see that that should make any difference,” said Cameron. “You evidently are a good stenographer. One could tell that by watching you work a few minutes. Your father is most fortunate to have such an able assistant.”

Astra flashed a pleasant look at him.

“Thank you,” she said gravely. “But my father died almost two years ago. I’ve been living with a relative since. But I’ve come away from her home now, and I’m on my own. I haven’t thought out my plans definitely yet.”

“Yes?” said Cameron. “Well, could you perhaps give me an address where mail would be forwarded to you?”

Astra thought for a moment and then gave him the address of an old friend of her father’s.

“I shall keep in touch with them,” she said, “and leave a forwarding address there if I should go away.”

“Thank you. I’ll be remembering that,” said Cameron. “I feel that you have done a great piece of work today. I doubt if there is another person on this train that could have covered the needs of that dying man as perfectly and comprehensively as you have done. I hesitate to speak of it, because I was not supposed to be in the room, and it seemed too sacred a thing for one to intrude upon. I mean your prayer. I don’t know a girl in my whole list of acquaintances who would have the courage to pray for that dying man, or would have known how, under such circumstances. Undoubtedly, some of my friends pray in private, or at least I suppose they do, but I wouldn’t be sure that one of them would have done it aloud or would have known what to say if they had tried.”

Astra lifted wondering eyes, as if to make sure he had understood.

“But, he asked me, you know.”

“Yes, I heard. And it certainly was a genuine request. I never heard such pleading in a human voice, only one word, but it told all his need. Such anguish in human eyes—dying eyes.”

“I know,” said Astra with a shaken voice. “I wished—someone else were there. I wished you had not gone out in the corridor. He needed some last message so much.”

“Well, I’m ashamed to say that I wouldn’t have been able to give that man such a message as you gave. It seemed—well—really inspired! You touched on so much. It was the kind of prayer that I would have liked to have prayed for me if I had been that man—a hard, lonely businessman who never had had time from making money to think about God or the beyond.”

Astra’s eyes were upon her plate, but she lifted them slowly as she spoke.

“I think,” she said as she looked thoughtfully into his eyes, “that when God sends a duty like that for which one is utterly unprepared, the Holy Spirit gives the words one should use, don’t you? I wouldn’t have known how unless I had trusted Him to do that.”

The young man looked at her in wonder.

At last he spoke, with awe in his voice.

“You must know God then very intimately, if you can expect a thing like that.”

There was a question in his voice, and his eyes were still upon her. She was almost at a loss just how to answer him. Was he a Christian, or not?

“Why,” she said with some hesitancy, “of course it is the privilege of all saved people to know God intimately.”

“Is it?” he said after a moment of silence. “I never thought about it in that way. I am a church member, since boyhood, but I never exactly thought of myself as saved. I
—hope
to be, of course.”

“But that is something you can be absolutely sure about if you have accepted Christ as your personal Savior,” said Astra. “We have God’s definite promise for that. ‘He that believeth
hath
everlasting life, and
shall not
come into condemnation; but
is
passed from death unto life.’”

“Well, I’ve heard that verse, of course,” said Cameron, “but I never thought of it as being a definite personal assurance of salvation. Do you mean that if I have an intellectual conviction that Jesus Christ once lived on earth and died on the cross for men, that I have a right to feel that that covers everything? That I am saved through all eternity?”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t dare to say just an intellectual belief would save. It has to be an active belief, trusting in what He has done for you personally as a sinner.”

He studied her with interest.

“How did you come to the knowledge of all this?” he asked at last. “You must have had a remarkable father.”

“Yes,” said Astra, with a tender look in her eyes, “I did. He taught me to study the Bible.”

Then there came the old porter from the car behind, who touched Cameron on the shoulder. The young man looked up questioningly.

“De doctor say, will you please come to him. De old gemman seem to be dying, and de doctor needs you to send some telegrams an’ he’p make ’rangements.”

“Of course,” said Cameron, throwing down his napkin and springing to his feet. Then turning to Astra he said, “You’ll excuse me, I know. I want to help, of course. No, I don’t think it will be necessary for you to come. You had better go to your own car for the night and get a good rest after your strenuous evening. Besides, it will be just as well for you to avoid the unpleasant old lady. When I left the car, she was still storming all around the place, determined to discover what you had written. You had a reservation, had you not? Can you find your way? Shall I take you there?”

“Oh no, that’s not necessary. I can get back to my seat. But if there is any way that I can help, I’ll be glad to do it, even if she is unpleasant. Her words can’t hurt me.”

“That’s good of you,” said Cameron. “If there is anything for you to do I’ll send for you or come for you. But I’m sure it won’t be necessary. You had better have your berth made up and get some rest. Or had you a reservation? There will probably be plenty to do in the morning, and you need to get a good night’s sleep.”

“No, I didn’t have a reservation. It was late when I got on the train, and I didn’t bother to hunt up the conductor to get one. I can always curl up in a day coach and get a good rest.”

She smiled reassuringly, but Cameron looked determined.

“No, that’s no way to rest. I’ll speak to the conductor for you and send you word. But go on back to your seat now. Your baggage is there, isn’t it? I should have looked after that for you, but it slipped my mind. However, go back now and I’ll look after everything. If I find I can’t get away myself, I’ll send this porter. You’ll know the lady, won’t you?”

The dignified porter nodded his head.

“Yassir! I know de lady!”

Astra smiled, and the two men went on their way together, while she found her way back to her seat in the day coach, feeling a little as if she had been off the earth for a while and had suddenly been dropped back on her own again.

Her seat was there, vacant as she had left it. Her two suitcases were there, one on the floor, the other in the rack above. The two reluctant stenographers were curled into separate seats, sound asleep, one with her hat hiding her face, the other with her face in full view, her mouth wide open, audibly snoring. Astra half smiled as she passed them, glad that they were not awake. They looked to her like girls who would have asked a lot of questions, and she would not have wanted to answer them.

The windows were thick with snow now. There was no looking out on lighted towns, even if there had been any towns. They seemed to be going on endlessly into the night, and Astra was back where she had been several hours ago, looking into an unknown future, wondering what the next day, and the next, would bring forth in her life. Was she going to be sorry that she had left the shelter of her cousin’s uncongenial home? Was she just going into another more uncongenial atmosphere perhaps?

She was glad after a few minutes to see the kindly face and dignified bearing of the old porter coming down the car toward her.

“Yassym, miss,” he said importantly. “We have de berth for you now, three cars ahead. Dese yore baggage, miss? Just step out in de aisle. I’ll get it.”

With the ease of long accustomedness, he swung the suitcases out and started on. Astra was glad that almost everyone in the car was dozing or asleep and not interested in her going. She felt a sudden shyness after having been called out of there a few hours before in such a dramatic manner.

She was glad to arrive quietly where most of the berths were made up, a long aisle of drawn curtains, the people behind them asleep.

She found in her own section was a lower berth made up, the upper not even let down. She had a passing gratitude for the thoughtfulness of the young man who had ordered it.

Then the porter handed her a folded paper.

“Gemman send this,” he said.

Astra glanced at the note. It was a few words about where he would meet her in the morning.

She smiled at the porter.

“Tell him all right. I’ll wait there till he comes,” she said, and handed him a bit of silver.

Then she was glad to lie down and sink into a deep sleep that left her no opportunity to try and figure out the way ahead, nor even go into the way behind to see if she had done wisely in coming.

I
f Astra Everson had not made up her mind that she simply could not stay in her cousin Marmaduke Lester’s house any longer, she would probably never have taken the definite step of going back to the old home to find her father’s friend, Mr. Sargent, and discover for herself just how her finances stood.

Three years before, when her father was in his last illness, he had talked with her one day about her future. He told her that he was leaving her plenty to keep her comfortable as long as she lived. She wouldn’t be what people called wealthy, but she would have enough and would not need to worry about money. He had arranged her inheritance in such a way that she would be safe from ordinary financial depressions. He had so invested the money he was leaving her that it would not be likely to depreciate in value, that is, as far as the human mind was able to estimate possibilities. And he had put the whole estate in the charge of this honored friend, Mr. Sargent, whom he trusted as himself, or even more, because he was a wise, conservative businessman who did not believe in taking chances. He would be as honorable with money entrusted to his care as if it were his own, perhaps even more so.

Her father gave Astra a little book in which all the facts were set down and warned her not to let it pass out of her hands. He had gone over each item and hoped he had made them plain to her. He had told her to read over these items once or twice each year, so that she would never be without knowledge of her own affairs.

But Astra had been so overwhelmed that her father would speak of the possibility of his going from her, that the financial matters seemed of very little account then. She had so dreaded to think of the day when he would be gone, that she did not give her mind to considering her fortunes very seriously. Although she had taken in the fact that even before she was of age, money need not worry her. Her usual modest allowance would come to her regularly, increasing a little each year, to meet her own modest needs.