An Unwilling Guest (10 page)

Two others knelt at the throne of grace
in
that same house and at that moment, the mother, with tender petitions for the one for whom her boy had requested prayer, but with a drawing away from the girl in spite of herself lest she had come bet
ween her boy and his family; Al
lison, with bitter tears of repentance an
d reluctant request for the sal
vation of her sometime enemy. The feeling against Miss Rutherford had been so deeply grounded that it was with the greatest difficulty Allison could overcome it and ask what she was bound to do with any degree of honesty. Even then the supplication was but half-hearted.

The moon, high in the heavens, looked into the bay window and shone upon the bowed head waiting there
till she felt that she had per
formed the ceremony of a prayer to her satisfaction. And out under the moonlighted sky miles away rushed the train, and one young man on that train was lifting up her soul in entreaty that would not be denied.

It was hard thing, that first prayer. Evelyn Rutherford,
Naaman
-like in her pride, could not bring her haughty lips to utter those simple words she had been told. She knelt long, trying to compose a more formal petition, but they, unaccust
omed, would not come at her bid
ding, and at last she said humbly, "O Christ, make me willing to be good." Even then, as she hastily arose, it came to her that he had asked her to try to say these words "with all her heart," and she feared that was not possible. However, she had trie
d, and her conscience was satis
fied with the duty discharged. She hastened to relight her gas and search for the novel. Having found it, she settled herself for an hour of relief from the tension under which she had been; but the baron and the
lady who were introduced in the firs
t page seemed trifling and friv
olous, and their ambitions so worthless beside the view of life she had been gazing upon recently, that she closed the book and went to bed.

Unconsciously her point of view in life had changed with even this
short stay in such a household. Had she been put back into her old life at once this would doubtless have faded away like some half-forgotten dream, to be remembered only when life seemed vain and empty. But God had not so appointed.

From one stage of our being to the next

We pass unconscious o'er a slender bridge,

The momentary work of unseen hands,

Which crumbles down behind us; looking back,

We see the other shore, the gulf between,

And marveling how we won to where we stand,

Content ourselves to call the builder Chance.

We call our sorrows Destiny, but ought

Rather to name our high successes so.

T
he next morning they awoke to find the brilliant weather gone and a gray drizzle settled upon the face
of the earth. The day seemed ex
actly fitted to their moods, for each of the three women in the house had spent a wakeful night. Mrs. Grey, however, had been able to leave her burdens at the foot of the cross in the early morning, and when Evelyn opened her room door to go downstairs, and then went back for something she had forgotten, she heard her moving about across the hall opening windows, throwing back bedding to air where the dampness could not reach it, and singing in the sweet, crooning voice she used so much about her work:

"Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take!

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy and will break

With blessings on your head.

"His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding every hour,

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flower."

Evelyn walked slowly through the hall to catch every clearly spoken word, and as she went down the stairs she heard the closing words:

"God is his own interpreter,

And he will make it plain."

The listener wondered how it would seem to believe those things and live like that. Would she have been different with a mother like
this one? No wonder Doctor Grey was such a man as he was. How could he help it living in such an atmosphere?

On Allison's face was a look of fixed purpose. The task her brother had imposed upon her should be performed, as much as in her lay, though she steadily believed that it was useless and she could be of no help to such a girl. Others might, but not she. Her nature had nothing in common with one from the world of fashion. Allison rather prided herself on that fact, though she was unaware of it. Well, three, her mother and elderly friend and brother,
all thought she was the one se
lected of the Lord to convert this girl. She would show them that it could not be done, at least not through her. It may be th
at it was be
cause of this feeling
in
Allison's heart
that she was not given the high
est honor in the leading of this soul to Christ.

The guest herself made the way ea
sier for a change of bearing to
ward her. In the midst of her night watches had come a remembrance of the words: "There are ways in which you can help her if you will." It soothed her pride, and made it easier for her to accept the thought of being helped by Allison, not that she felt in any immediate need of Allison's help. Her ideas of things were too new and crude to feel any of her own shortcomings. If she were going to do anything in this line she would prefer to study it out by herself, and not be dependent upon one who was younger and not near s
o worldly-wise. But she was dis
posed to study Allison with more interest and kindliness than before, if for no other reason than because she was the sister of the man whom she could not but admire. It would be pleasant to know what sort of women were beloved by him. Therefore she set herself to study her young hostess. At least she would discover if there were any way in which she might help her. She would
have liked a chance to ask Doc
tor Grey what he meant by that. How did he imagine his good little sister could ever be helped by her? It must be in the way of the world.

It was
in
her favor that she came down to breakfast that morning after the young man left. They had supposed
in
their hearts that she got up early to be there with him, or to show him she was not indolent But when she appeared that dreary m
orning in a crimson frock of ex
quisite fit, with touches here and there that showed no novice had been
its designer, they could but admire her, and congratulated themselves that they could think a little better of her. Neither mother nor daughter
questioned herself as to whether this willingness to see more good in the visitor was greater than it had been on account of the absence of the young man.

Evelyn talked politics with Mr. Grey during breakfast. Her father was connected quite intimately with some things in New York which interested Mr. Grey deeply, and Evelyn could talk well when she was on her native ground. The views she advanced were doubtless not her own, but those she had heard tossed back and forth across the table at the dinners in her father's house where she had presided. She had paid little heed to them, and if they had not been so oft-repeated week after week, year after year, she would doubtless never have remembered one, but now the well-worn phrase
s came back to her, and she sur
prised herself by being able to tell what this and that politician thought about such and such subjects. She had not realized that she knew their views before. Mr. Grey listened and
nodded, putting in a keen ques
tion now and then, and his wife saw that what the girl said was of no little moment to him. Alli
son listened also as she came in
now and again with plates of buckwheat cakes the like of which the New York girl had never tasted before, though she had eaten in many a place which boasted a famous cook. But somehow famous cooks know not the sweet, old, simple ways of quiet home grandmothers. Allison was trained to be interested
in
all the questions of the day. She had many a discussion with her father. She often re
ad the papers to him in the eve
ning when his eyes were wea
ry with poring over his books in
the office, and she was well-informed on both sides of many questions. She saw that what the guest was saying had a b
earing on one of their much-dis
cussed points, and once or twice she stopped and put
in
an animated word to her father, and he smiled and nodded and said: "Perhaps you are right, Allison, after all, if these men think so." Evelyn stopped then to
watch this other girl and wonder. There was such a perfect feeling of camaraderie between her and her father. When the meal was over, instead of going into the parlor to lounge and read, as she had done the first morning, Evelyn asked quite pleasantly,

"May I stay here and watch you?" and Allison had consented willingly enough, but she thought it would have been in better taste for her to have offered help, though she would not have accepted it. She did not yet realize how very far apart their t
wo spheres had always been. Eve
lyn would no more have known how to go about helping than she would have known how to build a house or set a diamond.

That she did not know anything about housework, Allison began to understand as she listened to the simple questions such as a child of six brought up in a plain home might possibly ask about the commonest every-day tasks.

She grew weary after a time and went into the other room. Allison watched her through the open door and saw her go over to the low bookcase. With an impulse to do what she could she followed her, and as the guest idly read the titles of the books she touched the upper shelf.

"These are all wonderful, if you have not read them. My brother and I have kept that shelf for books that we both unqualifiedly like, books that we feel are above the ord
inary." She passed her hand lov
ingly over the backs of the volumes
and went back to finish the pud
ding she was stirring up for dinner. She doubted in her heart whether the guest would care for any of the books on that shelf, and why she had opened her heart thus far she did not know, except for the memory of her brother's last words. It was a little thing, so li
ttle that it did not seem worth
while for her to lift her heart in a petition that it might be blest, as she often did when trying to help others, her Sunday-school boys for instance. She never gave them a book to read without that earnest heart petition. But little as it was, it was one of the links in the chain of influence that God was preparing for Evelyn Rutherford's soul.

"A Singular Life," read Evelyn, and from some strange attraction took the book down from the shelf. These books, then, were what he considered fine; "above the ordinary," his sister had said. She would read one and see.

Ordinarily the opening pages, being a conversation between a lot of young
theologues
, would not have been interesting to her, but it struck her now as quite unique, utterly out of the line in which she had ever
read, and she went on out of mere curiosity, becoming afte
r a little in
terested in the story and the central character, the man of the singular life who, by the way, to her fancy seemed in some respects much like young Doctor Grey.

She laid the book down a little before dinner and looked wearily out of the window. The life portrayed there was so different from her own. It was not that it attracted her so much as it made her discontented with everything. There was a vague longing to get back into her former self-content. If she were only
in
New York. If she did but know whether Jane
Bashford
had gone
back to the city yet. Jane would be glad to have her, and the
Bashfords
were such very old friends that her father could not object. Besides, Jane would be likely to invite Mr. Worthington sometimes if she suggested it Jane liked dashing people as well as she did.

With the thought of Mr. Worthington, however, came a vivid flash of contrast between him and the man in whose company she had spent a part of the last two days. She tried to imagine him talking as Doctor Grey had done. She knew that his
conversation would have been en
tirely of the smart set, their doings a
nd sayings, and as much of a re
port of what occurred at the club as he dared to tell her. It was like spice to a sated appetite. It was something new and she enjoyed it. Here was a man who was not afraid to tell things as they were. Of course, he would not go too far; he knew just where to stop. Or stay! Did he? In her heart she wavered a little. There had been times when she had felt it necessary to exercise a
little of her ready hauteur be
cause she instinctively feared what he might say next; that is, he was not a man one could trust—not like this other one. But then—and she sighed a weary sigh. This other lived a "singular life" like the man in the book. There might be one such in a thousand, but they were not for her. Why should she be unsettled a
nd unhappy in the place that be
longed to her, because somewhere in the world there lived a man like that? He would never look at her, would never likely come within her radius again. He had told her himself that when he went back to New York it was to
work hard
. This he had said when she invited him to ca
ll.
He had thanked her, and after a pause, looking at her earnestly
had said, "Perhaps I may," and then, "sometime." It was then he had explained that his practice in partnership with the great doctor would be very confining, and that he must
not entangle himself with plea
sures that would take his mind from
his work. She thought of it hum
bly now. She did not believe he meant to come. She was not altogether sure that when she went back to New York she would care to have him come, but she wished that this day and these thoughts were over, and that this ridiculous compulsory visit was over, and she could get into her normal state again. Why had she made that absurd promise? She began to have a superstitious feeling that it was at the bottom of all her unrest. Then she was called to dinner.

The pudding was delicious, and so were all the viands w
hich pre
ceded it, but the guest did not feel hungry. Allison asked her how she liked the book she had been reading, and she answered listlessly, "Well enough." This answer, to Allison, meant a depraved taste in reading. To brand her favorite book, which she had read and reread and then read again aloud to father and mother and brother, with a "well enough" was more than her spirit could bear. She relapsed at once into her critical state of mind, which did not even pass off when she discovered that Miss Rutherford had gone to her room and taken with her not only "A Singular Life," but also another favorite, "Heather and Snow." She could not care for either of them, Allison felt sure, and she sat down to enjoy herself for a while, and feel that she had performed her duty and it had done no good, as she had prophesied.

Several days of gloomy weather succeeded, during which time Miss Rutherford read not only two but several others of the sacred choice upper row of books. She made no comments upon them, and it cannot be denied that some of them actually bored her and she skimmed them.

Nevetheless
she had determined to find out this young man's idea of life and this was one of the ways open
to her. Besides, there was noth
ing else in the world to do. There came daily messages of affection from the plague-stricken house she was supposed to be visiting, and there came no letters of encouragement to return to New York.