Yes, Agnes was telling her brother. She had not to reason as to what was right or wrong in this case, having read that we are to shun every appearance of evil, and to keep ourselves unspotted from the world. Her heart beat fast, and her voice trembled, but not with indecision; for her soul was strong in its purpose to do right at all cost as she entered the room and said:

"Guy, I can't go to the theatre."

"What's the reason you can't?" was the surprised inquiry.

"Because our church does not allow it, and _I_ do not think it is a good place."

"You don't! how do you know when you never were there? See here, Agnes, don't be a simpleton. Where is Ruth? I'll be bound she'll go; she has good sense and good taste. I saved up cigar money this week on purpose to take you. Hurry now, or we shall not get good seats."

"I can't do wrong, Guy; I must not go;" and Agnes went out of the room, back into the bright little kitchen where she had been so happy that morning. She wanted to go to her own room, but Ruth was there.

Guy was angry, very angry, Agnes thought, from his voice as he spoke to Ruth, but they pa.s.sed out and she was alone.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decoration]

CHAPTER III.

GUY OR CHRIST.

THERE are times when the soul isolates itself and is with G.o.d only; although in the midst of a mult.i.tude. Then, although seeming alone, it has companionship, it is not lonely. And there are hours of heart-felt loneliness, though surrounded by a crowd, when no look, word or touch of another can reach our hearts, so separated are we.

Agnes had felt all this, but never before did she feel such a complete and painful separation as when the door had closed and she was left.

Ruth had made a sacrifice for Guy. She knew it must have been very hard to do it, and only her love for him could have induced her to go. But Ruth did not love him better than she. He would not understand that, and would think that want of love had prevented her from yielding. But O, if he could see her heart, if he could know how willingly she would give up her life for him, how gladly she would sacrifice everything but principle to satisfy him.

"And I can't tell him," she thought; "he would not understand it, but think I was trying to excuse myself, for we never talk like other brothers and sisters about our love for one another." Then came the question, "Why must I suffer and be misunderstood, when Ruth can act differently?" But again the voice was heard that ever brought calm and sweet a.s.surance, saying, "Is this your love for me? He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me, but he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it."

"O yes," was the response, "I would do a great deal for love of Guy, but more, far more for love of Jesus;" and so for His love she was willing to lose even Guy's love for a time if necessary, and could bear to be misunderstood if the Saviour trusted her. There was no shrinking from the thought of telling Him; no fear of being misunderstood there, so kneeling down, she poured forth the story. There were not many words, for as sometimes in opening our heart to a friend, we look up and catch a glance which tells us there is no need of further explanation, so she looked and felt that she was understood.

Earnestly she plead for her brother and sister. That _he_ might soon learn to walk in other paths, and that _she_ might lean more fully on Christ and less on her own understanding.

One thing perplexed her; that was whether she had better remain up until Guy and Ruth returned, and if she did, how she ought to act. It would not do to ask them about the performance, as that would revive unpleasant thoughts; and if she did not speak at all, they might think her in an ill humor. But she determined not to let this disturb her, the Lord, she knew, would help her to do right when the time came.

"Well, I declare! if she is not sitting up waiting for us," exclaimed Guy, quite gaily, with no sign of displeasure in tone or manner.

"Weren't you dull? Confess now that you cried a little because you did not go? Look at her eyes, Ruth, didn't she?"

Not appearing to notice his last remark, Ruth playfully reminded her of her newly-formed resolution to rise at an earlier hour than heretofore, and told her to be sure and call _her_ when breakfast was ready, for she was so sleepy she did not know when she should waken. Agnes good-naturedly promised to do so, provided she was awake herself, and ran up stairs, glad to escape from her brother. Ruth followed her in a few minutes, and going over to the dressing gla.s.s stood looking in. "How well you look to-night, Ruth," said Agnes admiringly. "I do not think I ever saw you with such a brilliant color. Did you enjoy yourself?" The question was put hesitatingly, as if she was not sure whether to put it or not.

"No, did you think I could? I can't even tell you what the play was, my brain was in such a whirl. But I laughed and talked and Guy was satisfied."

She sighed wearily as she laid aside her ornaments, and the tempter ever ready to take advantage, whispered to Agnes, "_She_ suffers for her brother's sake, but _you_ will not."

"No, not even for Guy, if it displeases the Lord. I must not let this move me," was the quick response.

There was no more said by the sisters that night. Agnes longed to help Ruth back to peace of mind, but Ruth did not seem disposed to enter into conversation, so there was only one way in which to do it, and her sister's case was given over to the One who alone can ease the burdened conscience, and Agnes slept undisturbed.

Ruth knelt as usual before retiring, but she could not reach up through faith to grasp the blessed promises; something kept her down and widened the distance between her and the Saviour. No sweet a.s.surance came, for there had been other thoughts before those of pleasing Him. She had acted according to her own judgment and pursued the course she thought best. She had not the comfort of knowing that He directed her paths, because she had not in all her ways acknowledged Him.

"I think it is the hardest thing I have to overcome, Ruth," said Agnes, as she came down quite late and found breakfast ready. She felt condemned and dissatisfied with herself, not knowing what to do, having prayed about it so often.

"How do you pray?" inquired Ruth, rather amused at her sister's distress.

"Why, I ask the Lord in faith to help me to get up."

"That is, you expect the Lord to set you right out on the floor?"

"O, Ruth, you are making fun."

"Indeed, I am in earnest; that seems to be what you expect. Now if I prayed about it, I should ask that I might have my senses about me when I was called, so that I might think what I ought to do, and _do_ it.

That is about as much as the Lord will do, and then if we fail, the fault is our own."

"Will you call me to-morrow whenever you waken, Ruth? I must have been making a mistake all along."

After that there was no more difficulty, and Ruth told her she was to be envied, having overcome her last failing.

"I wish I had," was the earnest reply, "but I have any number of faults that you do not see."

"Then I should not call them by such a hard name, if they were modest enough not to thrust themselves out to public gaze."

"You would not? It is only grace that keeps them within bounds, and I am quite as conscious of them as if they were seen. They do not, however, overcome me as they might if others saw them. But after all, Ruth, I think we often call things faults in others, that would be virtues, if we knew more of their lives and the motives that prompted their conduct."

"It is probable," said her sister, "but there is not much of this getting to understand each other's natures. There is not enough trouble taken to find one another out."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Decoration]

CHAPTER IV.

LITTLE PHILIP.

THERE never was a greater contrast than that presented by the two sisters in their mode of government. Entering the school-room of each, you could not detect the least difference in the order of the scholars, but while the result appeared the same, the methods were very different.

Ruth said "silence" or "looked silence," as the children expressed it, and there was silence. She spake and it was done, for the children well knew that she would have no disobedience. She was never unkind, and she loved children, though she seldom showed them her love; so if you had asked her scholars if they loved their teacher, they probably would have said they thought her nice and kind, for she did not whip, and she tied up their cut fingers.

It did not look dignified, some people thought, and they were sure Miss Agnes had no control over her scholars, as they saw her surrounded by them every day on her way to and from school. It was such an honor to carry her lunch basket, such delight to be first to meet her and have a place at her side. O, how they loved her! "She was the very nicest teacher that ever lived." And many even resolved not to study too hard for fear they should be promoted and have to leave her. Then when the time came for them to leave, such tears were shed at parting, that Agnes determined not to allow herself to be so loved in the future, and succeeded for a day or two; but it was strange, she did not know how it came, there was always the same ending.

Ruth a.s.sured her she would get over all that in time; but love was as necessary to Agnes as sunshine is to flowers, and among these little ones the pent up fountain found an outlet.

Ruth kept her love away, deep hidden from sight, when it became so intense that it was almost painful; in the other nature it kept bubbling up and running over whenever it found a heart that would receive it.

Agnes delighted in teaching, but Ruth, while just as faithful, taught because it was the best thing she could do, rather than from choice. But the duty was irksome, and often she longed to throw the book from her and give the scholars their dismissal. When such feelings possessed her, she "did penance," as she said, by giving special attention to the lessons, "for it would not do to have the children suffer from her whims."