He who had driven the traders out of the temple, he who had stilled the angry waters, he who had braved the soldiers sent to arrest him so that in fear they all fell backward, was standing there, allowing this drunken brute to harm, perhaps to kill, this little child for whom he himself had pleaded like a God that very day! It was incredible! I could not believe it.

The drunkard kicked the child twice. She screamed and covered her face with her hands. The sick woman in the other room came running in and fell down in front of the child, kneeling and holding up beseeching hands to the drunken father.

And still Jesus stood silent and motionless, and my heart almost stopped in its fear and trouble. I noted Richard’s powerful fist knotted and tense, as his look besought the Master for permission to throw the brute out of the room. But still Jesus made no sign.

The man struck the woman a cruel blow across the face. A red welt sprang up and a stream of blood began to trickle over the woman’s cheek. He raised his arm again as the woman fainted at his feet. I felt I could bear no more, when suddenly the man Clay Ross arose, knocking over his chair as he got up. With one stride, he was on the drunken man, and the blow the latter aimed at the woman fell on Ross’s own head. He seized the man, pinioning his arms to his side, and with much exertion, as if his physical strength were not great, he managed to drag the drunkard across the floor, back from the woman. The man resisted with drunken fury. But as the two struggled, trampling over the boxes which now were scattered all about the room, the drunken man stumbled over something, loosening the other’s hold, and fell heavily.

Clay Ross wiped the sweat from his face, looked around as if dazed and confused, then went over, picked up the chair he had overturned, and, sitting down, put his elbows on the table and sobbed like a child. Then Jesus raised the sick woman, and with my help and Richard’s, we carried her back into the other room and laid her down on her mattress.

And now, Rachel, you will have to take this next statement just as I have to make it, and believe me to be describing exactly what I saw.

We know that Jesus did not save Eloise when she was ill, and did not exercise his power to bring her to life. And we know your heart is satisfied that he did the best for you.