AUNT RUTH'S TEMPTATION.
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.
Chapter III.
I suppose it was the excitement of the performance which, a little later, roused me to some enjoyment of the evening. We had a merry tea party in our costumes before the play began, and when it came my turn to appear, I found employment enough for all my senses. I must own to no small discomfiture when I found myself upon the stage. I had expected to make quite a success, but the crowd of faces, the lights, the consciousness of being listened to, perhaps the guilty burden on my heart and soul, confused me. I spoke and acted very badly, and tears of vexation were in my eyes when I left the stage.
"Don't be so frightened, Ruth," Mr. Ludlow whispered. "It really is of no great consequence what people think of it, you know."
So the play continued. The great success of the evening was Kate's, and it was due to her playing a part which all the audience knew was like her own: a loving, unselfish, charitable woman, whose part it was to bring about a happy ending to the little play. Kate had thought so little of herself and her own part in the play that she seemed surprised and confused by the applause and congratulations. Everybody was in good spirits when we went down to supper, and all had so much to say to each other about the play that for a few moments I felt somewhat neglected. I stood near a window in the supper-room, concealed from view by heavy curtains, and now that the play was over, I realized fully the wickedness of the thing I had done. As I stood there, bitterly regretting that I had not obeyed my father's instructions, I could not help overhearing a portion of a conversation that was held just outside the heavy draperies behind which I stood. A lady's voice, that was at first unfamiliar to me, said, "Yes, she has wonderfully fine qualities, but she is eaten up with selfishness. I think it such a dreadful shame. Why, all C—— talks of the way Winifred is sacrificed to her."
"I can not believe she is naturally so selfish," the other voice said, and I recognized it as Mr. Ludlow's. "It is true, she never seems to consider any one but herself, but I think it is the fault of her education."
"But," persisted the other voice, which I now remembered was that of Mrs. Judson's sister—a lady who lived in New York, and was a great friend of Cousin Mary's—"but you don't know the life poor Winny leads, so shut up, hard-worked with those children, never given any sort of amusement, while Ruth grasps everything; and now I hear that Winifred is very ill...."
More was said, but I lost the words. The lady moved away; Mr. Ludlow remained standing by the table. I could hear the music in the distance, and the sounds of laughter and merry-making jarred upon me painfully. Finally I thrust back the curtains, and stood before Mr. Ludlow, the tears streaming down my cheeks.
"Oh, Mr. Ludlow," I exclaimed, brokenly, "it is all true; I am just that—a miserable, selfish girl." And flinging myself into a chair, I put my head down upon the table, giving way to a fresh burst of tears.
Mr. Ludlow did not speak for a moment; he let me weep silently. Then I felt his hand on my head.
"I am not sorry you overheard us, Ruthie," he said, in his kindest voice. "Perhaps, dear child, this was the lesson you needed."
I shook my head, and sobbed freshly. "Oh, but you don't know all!" I exclaimed. "I have been so bad! I am not only selfish, but a liar."
He started, but his hand on my head only moved slightly; then its gentle pressure was renewed, and he said, quietly, "Tell me all about it, Ruth. Stop; come up stairs to my own sitting-room. You can talk quietly there."
IN MR. LUDLOW'S STUDY—Drawn by E. A. Abbey.
I followed him gladly enough. Mr. Ludlow's little den was a very sacred place to all of us. There we knew that he read and wrote and studied. I had only seen the room once from the doorway. I did not remember what I now noticed, with a start, that above the mantel hung an exquisite crayon of Hunt's "Light of the World." There were candles lighted on either side of it, and their gleam touched the Divine face tenderly. I never forgot just that moment. I needed so to feel His mercy, and here I seemed to read it, with love and compassion as well. Mr. Ludlow made me sit down, and I told my story, and then I wrung my hands, and asked, miserably, what was I to do. He was very grave and earnest and kind, and said words which I yet hold as counsels for daily life; but he took the case into his own hands kindly. Of course, he said, I must go home at once. He asked me if he might call Kate up stairs, and counsel with her. I assented gladly, and I think he told Kate all about it before she came into the room, for she had her advice all ready. She said that I could go home by an early morning train, and leave her to explain my sudden departure to the girls. "And another time, Ruthie," she said, "you will come and have a longer visit." She said very little of my fault; but late that night, after all the merry-making was over, she came and knelt beside me, and we prayed a little together. After all, that miserable day had held moments which were to be life-long influences. It was arranged that Mr. Ludlow should take me home, and after a few hours' sleep, Kate wakened me. I went down in the early morning to a little breakfast, and then started off with my kind friend. I never shall forget that journey. My heart beat with nervous apprehension as we neared home. Mr. Ludlow had telegraphed ahead, and the boy with papa's gig was waiting. In answer to my inquiries, he said Miss Winny was very ill, and at the house door papa's face confirmed my fears.
Shall I ever forget my feelings as I entered Winny's room, and saw her lying on her bed, so changed that she turned nearly sightless eyes upon me. Oh, how I hated myself for all the trouble I had given her! Days and nights passed as though in a dream, and through God's mercy Winny lived, but never to be very strong and well, never to entirely resume her old place at our head. Kate Ludlow came up and nursed her through those many weeks. She taught me many things to do, and contrived to place a great deal in my hands.
I think it was a year later, when Winny had gone off to the country with the Ludlows, that I received a package from Mr. Ludlow containing an engraving like the one in his room. With it were the following lines:
"Dear Ruth,—Will you keep this from me in remembrance of last year, and as a sign that I believe you will keep your high resolves? When I bring Winny home, I shall have something to tell you."
And so he had. A week later he and Winny arrived, and almost the first thing she did was to put her arms about me and tell me the news. She was engaged to be married to my kind friend.
Aunt Ruth paused in her story. Evening had come on while she finished it, and the room was too dark for us to see her face.
"And so she married him?" I asked.
"Yes, dear," said Aunt Ruth, "and you all know what happiness she has had. So you see my temptation ended in Winny's peace."
We were silent a moment, and then Aunt Ruth said: "My story ought to help all of you a little, girls, one way or another. Try, resolve, and you can all conquer."