THE PRIZE.
But when the morning came she could find no plausible excuse for absenting herself from the prize-giving. Her head was better, though she still looked pale, and Mrs. Woburn, who was to accompany the two girls, would not hear of her remaining at home.
Sick at heart, and anxious for the whole business to be over, Ruth followed her aunt and cousin into the schoolroom, where the desks had been cleared away, and the drawings and work of the pupils were arranged for exhibition.
A number of visitors had already arrived, and were walking round inspecting the drawings, etc., and chatting in little groups, until Mr. Redcliffe, a gentleman of influence and wide repute, entered the schoolroom and took his seat. He made a little speech upon the value of education, complimented Miss Elgin upon her excellent system of instruction and the proficiency of her pupils, and said a few words of congratulation and encouragement to each of the girls as they came forward to receive their prizes.
Ruth's turn came last, and perhaps on that account his words to her were even kinder and more appreciative. He considered that the prize for general improvement was perhaps better worth having than any other, because, in order to gain it, one must indeed have proved worthy, he said to the blushing girl who stood before him, trembling and full of shame, which, however, appeared to be humility.
The longed-for moment had come at last, and Ruth held in her hand the prize for which she had worked and striven. Yes, she had gained it, but at what a cost!
At the cost of truth and honour, of right principle and self-respect. It was a very poor exchange for them, and the unhappy girl would gladly have given it up, would have borne any disappointment, anything but the humiliation of confession, to have been her old light-hearted innocent self again. But she had done wrong, and although she shrank from pain, she had to bear what, in her state of mind, was indeed a trial—the kind congratulations of her school-fellows, and the praises of her teacher and friends. Even when she reached home the trial was not over, for her uncle and cousins had each some kind word to say.
"And now, my dear, you must write to your father and mother," said Mrs. Woburn that afternoon. "How proud and delighted they will be to hear of your success!"
That letter! It was the hardest task of all to write and tell her parents what she knew would give them so much pleasure, while she was concealing the fact which would, if known, give them far greater pain. She spent the afternoon writing and re-writing it, and at last sent off a stiff, constrained little note, informing them that she had been successful, and hoped they were all well.
When Mrs. Arnold received the letter, she read it again and again. She felt convinced, from the absence of any playful remarks, from Ruth's unusual brevity and lack of detail, that something was wrong; but she knew that if her daughter did not write freely she could not force her confidence. So she carried the trouble to her Heavenly Father, and asked Him to lead and guide her absent child.
Christmas was upon them almost before Ruth was aware of it, the gayest and most festive Christmas time that she had ever known, a round of parties, pleasure and merriment. It needs a mind at peace to be able to enter into and enjoy the innocent pleasures of life, and to feel no bitterness when they are past. And Ruth, in spite of the presents she received, the parties to which she was invited, and the pretty dresses she wore, was troubled in mind, and therefore unhappy.
Two things weighed heavily upon her, her own deceit, and her promise to Gerald.
She had been so carefully trained, and so early taught the difference between right and wrong, that she could not look upon her prize without being reminded of the temptation to which she had so suddenly yielded, and the equivocation to which she had resorted in order to hide it.
Then her promise to Gerald troubled her greatly. She felt almost sure, though she could not prove it, that he was not keeping his word. He came down in the morning very late, looking pale and haggard, scarcely tasted his breakfast, and hurried away to the office; and when he returned in the evening either pooh-poohed his mother's anxious inquiries about his health, or answered her curtly and snappishly.
Everything was going wrong, Ruth said to herself continually.
She had done very wrong, had taken a false step, and she felt truly enough that no power on earth could alter that fact. And having once started on a downward path it seemed of no use to try to stop and to do better in future: she must give up all her struggles to do right, and go down, down. It requires a very hardened sinner to forget the past, and begin again as if nothing had happened; or a very humble Christian to start again, after repeated failures, in dependence upon God. Ruth's self-sufficiency was gone, and she sadly admitted to herself that she was no better than Julia and the other girls. She had given up reading her Bible now, thinking its sweet messages were not for her, a wayward, erring one, and would scarcely dare to pray even for the safety and well-being of the dear ones at home. Too broken-spirited to make resolutions which she felt herself to be too weak to carry out, afraid to open her Bible and read therein her own condemnation, and feeling that her sin had raised a barrier, which she was unable to remove, between herself and God, the New Year began in sorrow and sadness. "Your sins have separated between you and your God." These words were continually in her mind, and the remembrance of the peace and joy which she had once felt in thinking of the things belonging to the kingdom only made her more miserable.