The Captive Bride by Gilbert Morris Page A

and mind, were strangers. Matthew lacked something, and while she dreaded being judgmental, she sensed a shallowness in his walk with God that kept them apart.
    But this moment had been one of total intimacy of spirit, and her heart cried out for him as he sat there holding her. This is marriage, she thought happily.
    But then he suddenly gave a start, looked around the cell with wild eyes, and when he turned to face her, there was something distraught in his eyes—a fear that was mastering the joy that had flashed out when he had heard of her condition.
    â€œI’ve got to get out of here, Lydia!” he gasped, and with a moan he put his head in his hands. “How can I live with you having a baby—while I’m cooped up like a dog?”
    She put her arm around him and whispered fiercely, “We are God’s children, dearest—He will never forsake us!”
    But it was as if she had not spoken, for he sat there with his face buried in his arms, and nothing she could say would bring him out of it.
    Finally she arose and said, “I must go to Elizabeth. She’s having a difficult time with this baby.”
    Matthew raised his head and looked at Bunyan. Suddenly he motioned for the preacher to come, and Bunyan rose and stepped to where they stood. “John, Lydia is going to have a child!”
    Bunyan’s broad face beamed and he said heartily, “Is she now? Well, that’s fine—fine!”
    â€œNo—not with me in prison! And Elizabeth—she’s having a hard time, Lydia says. John, we’ve got to get out of this place!”
    Bunyan asked quietly, “Elizabeth is worse?”
    â€œShe’s not well, I’m afraid.”
    He stood there, a strong shape in the gray light that filtered feebly through the high window. His form seemed to be made of the same material as the walls—enduring, tough, and impervious to time or hard wear. But his face was not so, for as the light caught it, though his eyes, hidden in the hollow sockets of his face, evidenced deep pain, his features held such an expression of pain and sorrow that Lydia wanted to weep.
    Matthew stood there waiting for his reply, but when it came, it was not what he expected.
    â€œWe must be faithful to God, my boy. ‘He that loveth husband or wife more than me is not worthy to be my disciple.’ Those are hard words, but our Savior speaks. You and I can bear the suffering to our own bodies, and Satan knows this well enough! He will not attack us there, but where we are weak. And that is—that is our wives and our little ones!”
    Matthew stared at him, then shook his head. “He that does not provide for his own is worse than a heathen,” he quoted. “Does God expect us to let our loved ones suffer, those whom we’ve vowed to protect?”
    â€œHe is the Father of the fatherless, and we must be faithful to His word. He will care for Elizabeth and my little ones—and He will take care of your dear wife and the little one to come.”
    Matthew stared at him, then turned with a bitter light in his blue eyes. “God is unfair!” he said through clenched teeth, then wheeled and stalked stiff-legged to the window he’d occupied earlier, staring out at the gray river that rolled heavily by the prison.
    â€œHe’ll be better,” Bunyan whispered to Lydia as she stoodthere with tears in her eyes. “He’s young in the faith, and I was no stronger at his age. Pray! Pray for him!”
    Lydia was so full of fear she could not answer, but finally said, “Yes, John, I’ll take care of Elizabeth—perhaps she’ll be strong enough to come tomorrow.”
    She went home, walking slowly with her head down, impervious to the icy bite of the wind. A deadly spirit of fear more potent than winter’s blast was sweeping through her heart, and the tears that she could not contain rolled down her pale cheeks.
    She tried to pray, but the