CHAPTER VIII.
AT CHURCH.
Sunday morning came bright and clear, but very cold, and many of thegirls made their appearance in the library, shaking and shivering, as ifthey had never before experienced a northern winter.
"Gracious me!" exclaimed Sarah Brown, "I'm almost frozen. My room is ascold as a barn! My cheeks are as blue as a razor, and my nose looks likea great cranberry. Do let me get near the fire, Georgie; you're keepingthe heat off of every one."
Georgie made way for her, quietly remarking, as she did so:--
"Well, Sarah, I must say the cold is not very becoming to your style ofbeauty; your nose and hair together ought to heat this room."
"You needn't say anything, Miss Graham; you're not so killing handsomeyourself that you can afford to make fun of others!" hotly retortedSarah.
It was a notable fact that these two could never come together without apassage-at-arms. Grace's quietly hateful remarks always excited Sarah toa most unmitigated degree, and she could not seem to learn by experiencethat the only way to silence her was to take no notice of them; andtheir disputes were often great sources of amusement to the other girls.
Georgie, tall and rather distingue-looking, although not pretty, withher quietly assured manner even when she knew herself beaten, and herhypocritically soft tones, was almost always more than a match forSarah, who never could hide her feelings no matter what they were andwho always retorted as sharply and spitefully as she could. She was awarm-hearted little thing, as honest and true as she was impulsive, andGeorgie's quiet, deliberate hatefulness was more than she could bear.
If there was one subject on which Sarah was more sensitive than anotherit was her hair. It was a rich, reddish-yellow; very thick, long andcurling, and any artist would have looked upon it with admiration; butit was the bane of Sarah's existence. When she was a little girl it hadbeen really red, but time had softened its shade, and many a Parisianbelle might have envied Sarah its possession. Sarah could see no beautyin it, for at home she was often greeted by the name of "carrot-top,"and "little red hen;" and once when she got into a very excited argumentwith her brother, and stood shaking her head at him with the long curlswhich she then wore, flying about her shoulders, he had run out of theroom, shouting as he got well out of reach:--
"I say, Sal! how much would you charge to stand on Boston common nights,and light the city? Your head would save all the expense of gas!"
You may be pretty sure it did not take Georgie Graham long to find outSarah's weakness, and so the poor child's bane was still kept before hereven at school, where there were no troublesome brothers.
She resolutely brushed out her long curls, and braided them into soft,heavy braids, winding them round and round at the back of her head untilit looked like a great golden bee-hive; but she could not keep the frontfrom rippling into soft, delicate waves; or the short hairs fromtwisting themselves into numberless little curls, which all thecrimping-pins and hot slate-pencils in the world could not imitate. Thishair which Georgie Graham so affected to despise was in reality a greatobject of her admiration, and she would have gladly exchanged it, withits usual accompaniments of glowing cheeks and scarlet lips, for her ownsallow skin and scanty, drabbish-brown locks. But I have made adigression; let us return to our group in the library.
"What are you two quarrelling about this lovely Sunday morning?" askedFlorence Stevenson as she and Marion came into the room together.
"Oh, we were not quarrelling," replied Georgie. "Sarah was onlyremarking that her cheeks were as blue as razors and her nose like acranberry, and I agreed with her,--that was all."
"Yes," exclaimed Sarah, "and I told you you weren't killing handsome,and I dare say you agreed with me, though you didn't say so. But thereis one thing certain, if the cold makes frights of both of us, it makesMarion look like a beauty!" and Sarah's eyes sparkled mischievously.
Georgie only shrugged her shoulders and elevated her eyebrows, as shereplied, "Chacun a son gout."
"But it doesn't happen to be your "gout," does it, Georgie?"good-naturedly replied Marion, who knew very well that Sarah'sadmiration of herself was thus publicly exhibited solely for the sake ofannoying Georgie.
"Come, girls, let's declare peace, or at least a 'cessation ofhostilities;' it's a shame to commence the day with quarrels;" andFlorence knelt down on the rug between the two girls, looking up at themwith a smile that it would have been hard for any one to have resisted.
Directly after this Miss Stiefbach entered, and all were quiet as sheread the morning prayers, and they joined in the responses.
By ten o'clock the girls, with the exception of Julia Thayer, whosethroat was still troubling her, and Grace Minton, who was suffering froma sick headache, were on their way to church. They did not walk in aregular procession like so many convicts on their way to prison, buteach chose her own companion, and the walk was enlivened with pleasantconversation. It so chanced that Marion and Georgie Graham weretogether, not by choice of either party, but because they both happenedto come downstairs a little late, and the others had already got intothe street as they came out the front door. Florence Stevenson, MissChristine, and Rachel Drayton were all walking together, and Georgie,observing this, thought it would be an excellent opportunity for makingMarion thoroughly uncomfortable.
"It seems to me," she began, "you and Florence are not quite so fond ofeach other as you used to be; or is it that she is not so fond of you?"
"I don't think there is any difference on either side," quietly repliedMarion, determined not to lose her temper, or be led into saying cuttingthings of which she would have to repent.
"Oh, if you think so, I suppose it is all right; but I don't believethere's a girl in the school who hasn't noticed how Florence has leftyou to run after Rachel Drayton."
Marion resolutely kept silence, and Georgie, thinking that her shots hadnot taken effect, continued: "I don't see what there is about that girl,I'm sure, to make Flo fancy her so much; she certainly isn't pretty, andshe's awfully lackadaisical."
"I think she is very pretty," replied Marion; "and the reason she seemslackadaisical is because she is not strong."
"I thought you did not like her," said Georgie, "you certainly have nottroubled yourself much to entertain her."
"I do not see as that is any reason why I should not think her pretty,or why I should not see that she is quiet, because she is not only weak,but very homesick and sad."
"Why, really, Marion, I had not any idea you had taken enough notice ofher to see all that. What a farce you must have been acting all thistime, to seem so indifferent when you were _really_ so deeplyinterested!"
"If that is so, Georgie," replied Marion, as she looked her companionsteadily in the face, "I have been a better actress than you, for youplay your part so badly that the little boys in the amphitheatre mightsee into the plot in the first act. I advise you to try another role."
Georgie opened her eyes in pretended astonishment; but she knew verywell what Marion meant, and that her intentions of tormenting hercompanion were fully understood. But that fact did not prevent her fromsaying in a gently insinuating tone: "Now, Marion, don't be provoked,but _don't_ you think that Florence is rather turning the cold shoulderon you?"
"No, Miss Graham, I do not," emphatically replied Marion, and for atleast five minutes Georgie said nothing. "I wonder!" she at lastexclaimed, "if Rachel Drayton is rich. I think she must be, for althoughthere is no style to her clothes, and she is of course verydowdy-looking, still everything she has is made of the most expensivematerial, and you know nice mourning costs awfully. Just look at hervail now; see how long it is, and of the heaviest crepe; but she lookslike a ghost under it! I don't believe but what she is rich."
"Well, Georgie," replied Marion, with the slightest possible curve ofher lip, "I can satisfy you on that point. She _is quite_ well off; herfather left about two millions, and with the exception of a few legaciesof two or three hundred thousand or so, mere trifles to her, she willhave
it all; you see she is pretty well provided for."
"Two millions!" exclaimed Georgie, startled out of her usual composure;"two millions! why, I hadn't any idea of it."
"No, I thought not," dryly replied Marion.
"But, Marion, are you sure? How did you know it?"
"I heard Miss Stiefbach tell Miss Christine so the day Miss Drayton camehere."
"And you've known it all this time!" ejaculated Georgie, who could notget over her astonishment.
"Yes," replied Marion, "I've known it all this time, and actuallyhaven't toadied her yet; aren't you surprised?" and Marion's voice had,by this time, assumed its most coolly sarcastic tones, and her eyesflashed scorn and indignation upon her bewildered companion.
"I wonder if Florence Stevenson knew it. I suppose of course she did,"musingly remarked Georgie.
"No, she did not," sharply retorted Marion; "and she doesn't know itnow, I'm sure."
"Well, I don't know what to make of it!" replied Georgie in an annoyedtone; "an heiress in school and no one to know it!"
"Don't you think her prettier than when you first saw her?" exclaimedMarion, in such cutting, sarcastic tones that even Georgie winced; "andher pale face, I'm sure you think there is something very distingueabout that, set off by her 'heavy, expensive crepe;' and then I know youmust think that there is something decidedly aristocratic about her'lackadaisical' manner;" and Marion gave a little bitter laugh,expressing quite as much scorn as her words.
At that moment, they entered the church porch, and Georgie made noreply, only too glad of an excuse for silence.
Miss Stiefbach's scholars occupied the first six pews from the front;three on each side of the broad aisle. Miss Stiefbach sat at the head ofone, with five of the youngest girls, and Miss Christine, on theopposite side, also had some of the smaller girls with her, while therest of the scholars occupied the pews in front of their teachers.
As Marion entered the church, and the girls quietly took their placesand knelt in prayer, the solemn stillness of the place struck painfullyupon her. She could not so soon shake off all outward impressions, andthe cutting words which had passed her lips, just as she entered thatholy place, were still ringing in her ears.
She had risen that morning, her mind still filled with the pleasantthoughts which had lulled her to sleep, and with good resolutions forthe future. She felt glad that it was Sunday, for she thought she was inthe mood to be benefited by the sacred influences of the day.
But where now were her good resolutions? She had yielded to the firsttemptation; she had broken the vows made on her knees that morning, andshe was utterly disheartened and discouraged.
She knelt with the rest, her head bowed as if in prayer, but her mind ina wild confusion of anger, shame, and remorse; but the anger died,leaving nothing but the saddest, most wretched thoughts of all; thesense of utter failure; of continued shortcomings, of broken resolutionsand disregarded vows, made sacred by the time and place of theirutterance.
She thought she was wicked because she could not pray, because herthoughts would not become composed, quiet, and peaceful, like the placeand hour, and she knelt on, her hands clasped tightly together, and herhead pressed down into them, the only cry that could silently shapeitself into words, breaking from her heart in very agony of doubt anddespair: "O God, help me! O God, save me from myself!"
And who shall say that it was not enough? That that cry, coming from thedepths of a heart distressed, remorseful and repentant for errors thatto many would seem but trifles, did not reach the ear of Him who,bending in mercy and love, sees into the hearts of all; reads the verysecrets of their souls; and to all who sincerely put their faith in Himsurely, sooner or later, sends them His consolation and peace? As theothers rose from their knees Marion was recalled to herself, and risingwith the rest, she opened her prayer-book and joined in the service,which had just then commenced.
Mrs. Berkley had requested, when Marion entered Miss Stiefbach's school,that no sectarian influences should be brought to bear upon herdaughter's mind. She wished that her child should follow her owninclinations and the dictates of her own conscience in religiousmatters, for she understood her well enough to know that she would notblindly follow any faith without first feeling sure that she clearlycomprehended and sincerely believed all that its doctrines taught. Theinfluences which of course continually surrounded, although in a quiet,unobtrusive way, were not without their effect. She loved the service ofMiss Stiefbach's church, and joined in it heartily. It seemed to herthat it brought her nearer to God if she knelt the first thing when sheentered the church and asked his blessing on her head. Not that silent,heartfelt prayers could not be uttered anywhere and in any position; butit seemed to her as if there, on her knees, in the place sacredlydedicated to his worship. God did not seem so far off--as if she couldmore earnestly and fervently supplicate him.
There was much in the service which she could not believe and accept asit was intended it should be accepted; but she interpreted it as her ownheart dictated. The greater part, however, she believed and repeatedwith reverence, and a feeling which could never come to her in her ownchurch; for there the intense simplicity and almost business-like mannerof conducting the service, struck harshly upon her sensibilities; andshe missed the participation in the prayers and responses which seemedto draw her out of herself, and raise her thoughts above their commonlevel, even into the presence of the most High.
But to-day the holy words, the prayers and selections had no power tocalm her troubled spirit; she tried to fix her thoughts upon the sermon,and not let them wander to dwell upon her own troubles; but it was nouse; her mind was still in bitter confusion when she left the church.
As she went down the path, Georgie, who seemed to have forgotten herprevious discomfiture, if not the subject of their conversation, joinedher and began plying her with fresh questions about Rachel Drayton.Marion did her best to evade her remarks, but Georgie would not let heralone, until, thoroughly exasperated and provoked beyond endurance, sheexclaimed shortly:--
"Georgie, I do wish you'd hold your tongue! I'm sick of your questions;do let me alone!"
"Dear me!" replied Miss Georgie, "you were very communicative thismorning; but it's not very strange that you should be rather annoyed,considering Rachel has taken your best friend away."
An angry retort rose to Marion's lips, but she controlled herselfsufficiently to keep from uttering it; although the expression of herface warned Georgie that she had said quite enough, and the twocontinued their walk in silence.
Having received permission from Miss Stiefbach, Marion set offimmediately after dinner for the All Saints' church, and as the servicesbegan a half hour before St. Mark's she had her walk all to herself; norwas she sorry for this, for she did not feel like talking to any one.
She was early; hardly any one was in the church, and without waiting forthe sexton to show her into a pew, she took the very front one, knowingthat it was almost always unoccupied. The hymns were read by theclergyman of the parish; a good, earnest man, and one who in the homesof the poor, and by the bedsides of the suffering and dying was oftenseen, and most sincerely loved; but he had not the gift of preaching; herarely made his sermons go home to the hearts of his hearers, and Marionfelt disappointed when she saw him; she had hoped to hear some one else.
Her surprise and pleasure was great, when Mr. More stepped forward andannounced that Mr. B., who had been pastor of that church fifteen yearsbefore, would preach for them that day.
The minister came forward, and bowing his head, remained for a moment insilent prayer; when he lifted it again Marion felt as if she had seenthe face of an angel, so holy, peaceful, and patient was its expression.He was a very old man; his hair hung long and white about his shoulders;and as the beams of the afternoon's sun fell upon it, it gleamed with alight which was almost unearthly, spiritualizing and sanctifying thatbeautiful old face, until it seemed to many as if he were speaking tothem from the very gates of heaven. His sermon was short but impre
ssive;the gentle pathos of his voice, and the earnestness of his manner, werefelt by all who heard him. Bending over the pulpit as he closed hisdiscourse, his voice fell into a soft, musical cadence, which thoughvery low reached the most remote recesses of the church, and stretchingout his arms as if he would have taken each one by the hand and led themto the haven where he had found rest and peace, he exclaimed, or ratherentreated:--
"O my friends! look down into your own hearts, and read each one of youwhat is written there; pride, wilfulness, sin in many forms. Man'sgreatest enemy is self. But who has said, 'He that conquereth himself isgreater than he that taketh a city'?--Jesus! Jesus the Saviour, who cameto wash out all our sins; to give us strength for the struggles andtrials which come to us all; to teach us patience, humility, andcharity.
"Each one in this world, young or old, has his sorrows to bear; histemptations to resist; his victories to gain; and to each one it seemssometimes as if everything was darkness and desolation; the blackness ofnight surrounds them on every side; darkness! darkness everywhere! nolight, no hope, no guide. Look up, my friends! look up! not to thedarkness; but above it, beyond it, to where Christ stands, ready, ay,more than ready. He comes to meet you, his eyes beaming withcompassionate love, his hands outstretched. Grasp those hands, hold fastand firm; they, and they alone, can lead you through storm and darkness,through sorrow and fear; until kneeling at last in perfect peace andhappiness you shall behold the face of your Father in heaven."
Then followed the Lord's Prayer; but Marion could not take her eyes fromthat holy face. It seemed to her as if every word had been uttered forher alone; as if the speaker had looked down into the secrets of herheart and had tried to give her comfort and consolation.
And this was partly true. As Mr. B. leaned forward and cast his eyesover the congregation they fell upon the face of that young girl,looking up at him with a longing, wistful, tearful glance that startledhim. For many years he had been settled over a fashionable society inNew York, where he often felt that the words he uttered were but as"seed sown by the wayside" or "on stony ground;" but there was nomistaking the earnestness of that face, over which was spread anexpression which it pained him to see in one so young; for he knew thather trials, whatever they were, were but just begun, and thinking of theyears of struggling that would probably come to her, his heart yearnedover her in deepest sympathy. With the thought of her uppermost in hismind he gave out the closing hymn; two verses only. Marion had heardthem often before, but their depth and meaning never came to her sofully as now:--
"Give to the winds thy fears; Hope and be undismayed; God hears thy sighs, and counts thy tears; He shall lift up thy head.
"Through waves, through clouds and storms, He gently clears thy way; Wait thou his time, so shall the night Soon end in glorious day."
As the last notes of the choir died away, and Marion bowed her head toreceive the benediction, she felt strengthened and encouraged; and apeace such as she had not known for months fell upon her heart.
As she passed out of church she avoided meeting any one whom she knew,and hurried out of hearing of the remarks of various members of thecongregation, who were commenting on the sermon in very much the samemanner as if it had been a theatrical performance.
Such expressions as, "Very fine sermon, wasn't it?--hit some of uspretty hard;" or "What a charming voice and manner! why, he really quitetouched me!" made by different persons in a flippant, off-hand tone,jarred upon her ears, and she was thankful to leave them all behind.
As she was about to cross the street, preparatory to turning off intothe road which led to school, she stopped to allow a carriage to pass;as it reached her a gentleman leaned towards her, and looking up she metthe eyes of the minister bent down upon her with an expression of thedeepest interest.
She never saw that face again; but the remembrance of it went with herthrough her whole life.