“O God!  O God!”

It was an involuntary moan, stifled in his fear of becoming hysterical, but its syllables arrested his attention.  They were the syllables of primal articulation, of primal need, condensing the appeal and the aspiration of the world.  He repeated them: 

“O God!  O God!”

He repeated them again.  He raised his head, as if listening to a voice.

“O God!  O God!”

He continued to sit thus, as if listening.

It was a strange, an astounding thought to him that he might pray.  Though the earth of adamant were unyielding, the heaven of brass might give way!

He dragged himself to his feet.

He believed in God—­vaguely.  That is, it had always been a matter of good form with him to go to church and to call for the offices of religion on occasions of death or marriage.  He had assisted at the saying of prayers and assented to their contents.  He had even joined in them himself, since a liturgical service was a principle in the church to which he “belonged.”  All this, however, had seemed remote from his personal affairs, his life-and-death struggles—­till now.  Now, all at once, queerly, it offered him something—­he knew not what.  It might be nothing better than any of the straws he had been clutching at.  It might be no more than the effort he had just been making to compel two to balance ten.

He stood in the middle of the room under the cluster of electric lights and tried to recollect what he knew, what he had heard, of this Power that could still act when human strength had reached its limitations.  It was nothing very definite.  It consisted chiefly of great phrases, imperfectly understood:  “Father Almighty,” “Saviour of the World,” “Divine Compassion” and such like.  He did not reason about them, or try to formulate what he actually believed.  It was instinctively, almost unconsciously, that he began to speak; it was brokenly and with a kind of inward, spiritual hoarseness.  He scarcely knew what he was doing when he found himself saying, mentally: 

“Save me!...  I’m helpless!...  I’m desperate!...  Save me!...  Work a miracle!...  Father!...  Christ!  Christ!  Save my daughter!...  We have no one—­but—­but You!...  Work a miracle!  Work a miracle!...  I’m a thief and a liar and a traitor—­but save me!  I might do something yet—­something that might render me—­worth salvation—­but then—­I might not....  Anyhow, save me!...  O God!  Father Almighty!...  Almighty!  That means that You can do anything!...  Even now—­You can do—­anything!...  Save us!...  Save us all!...  Christ!  Christ!  Christ!”

* * * * *

He knew neither when nor how he ceased, any more than when or how he began.  His most clearly defined impression was that of his spirit coming back from a long way off to take perception of the fact that he was still standing under the cluster of electric lights and the clock was striking three.  He was breathless, exhausted.  His most urgent physic need was that of air.  He strode to the window-door leading out to the terraced lawn, and, throwing it open, passed out into the darkness.