There was healing and peace in his religion for this woman as for all others , but he could express it in no language which this tortured soul could understand . He looked at her writhing face ; he looked at the idiot girl chuckling to herself at the foot of the bed ; he looked through the open door to the remote , starlit night -- and a horrible sense of utter helplessness overcame him . He could do nothing -- nothing ! In all his life he had never known such bitterness of soul as the realization brought home to him . `` What is the good of you if you ca n't help me ? '' moaned the dying woman . `` Pray -- pray -- pray ! '' she shrilled suddenly . Mr. Leonard dropped on his knees by the bed . He did not know what to say . No prayer that he had ever prayed was of use here . The old , beautiful formulas , which had soothed and helped the passing of many a soul , were naught save idle , empty words to Naomi Clark . In his anguish of mind Stephen Leonard gasped out the briefest and sincerest prayer his lips had ever uttered . `` O , God , our Father ! Help this woman . Speak to her in a tongue which she can understand . '' A beautiful , white face appeared for a moment in the light that streamed out of the doorway into the darkness of the night . No one noticed it , and it quickly drew back into the shadow . Suddenly , Naomi fell back on her pillow , her lips blue , her face horribly pinched , her eyes rolled up in her head . Maggie started up , pushed Mr. Leonard aside , and proceeded to administer some remedy with surprising skill and deftness .
Mr. Leonard , believing Naomi to be dying , went to the door , feeling sick and bruised XXXXX soul .
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