The lad pressed his rag of a handkerchief against his bruised and swollen forehead—the stain of blood was upon it.
“Hurt for me!” moaned Lottie, whose courage was beginning to give way under her complicated trials.
“I wish you’d clear up about that money,” her brother went on, “’cause I can’t knock down all them folk as talk, and I can’t stand hearing ’em call you a thief.”
Lottie went up to the lad, threw her arms round his neck, and sobbed on his shoulder.
“Don’t take on so—don’t take on so,” said poor weak-witted Steady, almost beginning himself to cry in his rough sympathy with his sister. “I trust you, Lottie, you ain’t no thief; but why—why won’t you clear up?”
And still that painful silence had to be maintained, that cruel promise had to be kept. A hundred times was Lottie on the point of breaking it, but simple faith kept her firm in temptation. To break her word would be to disobey her Lord; it was better to suffer than to sin. “But oh!” thought Lottie, “it’s a blessing that mother is away; how could I have kept any secret from her!”
Poor Steady’s rude championship of his sister had been worse than useless; it only, as was the case with any violent excitement, brought on one of his sudden attacks, which, though very brief in duration, were always distressing, and very painful to witness. Sleep, however, soon removed from the afflicted lad all consciousness of earthly trouble; but for Lottie there was no rest throughout all the night. She heard the church-clock strike every hour as she lay on her pallet-bed, almost too wretched even for tears.
“But oh,” thought the poor girl, “it’s such a comfort that there is One who knows all; He knows that I did no wrong, except—except in letting curiosity lead me on, and touching that bag of gold, and thinking those wicked, covetous thoughts. But He has forgiven me—I feel that He has, though He lets me suffer for my folly. It seems as if all my friends and my comforts were being a-taken from me together. Mother away—father ill—Mr. Eardley and my dear lady vexed and displeased—all my neighbours turning against me—even poor Steady scarcely knowing what to think of me, though he will never desert me. It is just as Mr. Eardley said in his lecture, all my blossoms are falling from the tree.” The idea linked itself on to others connected with Gideon when his faith was in trial, when, just before the struggle with the foe, he was constrained to deprive himself of the help of those on whose support he had counted. “It must have seemed strange and hard to him,” mused Lottie, “to have had the greater part of his friends sent from him, with all these fierce enemies gathering in front. Now it seems as if my Midianites were getting stronger than ever, and I more helpless against them. There’s dreadful Disappointment, and worse than Discontent, and I seem at Dissension with all my neighbours, though I never willingly did them wrong; and as for Distrust, ’tis just crushing me down, for I can’t see any way out of my troubles, and it looks as if the Lord had forsaken me. And now those of whom I would have said, ‘They will always comfort and care for me and trust me,’ are those who cause me most grief and pain. They are still good, patient, and kind; yet I have, as it were, to send them from me, and struggle with temptation alone. But God gave victory to Gideon in a way that man would not have thought of. It was not to make him really weaker that he was deprived of his friends; I suppose that it was to make him rest more entirely on God. Perhaps that is why a poor child like me is left so desolate now. I look to this side, and to that side, and no one seems able to help me; and then, when there’s hope nowhere else, I look up straight to my God. I should like to hear more of what happened to Gideon. I think that I could walk to Mrs. Holdich’s cottage on Friday with Steady, who goes whenever he can. It would be dreadful, indeed, to face all the people; do they not look upon me as a thief! And yet,” said the poor girl, half aloud, raising herself on her elbow, as the first morning ray glimmered through her casement, “I should like to show to all that I am not ashamed, that I dare show my face before my accusers. I should like Mr. Eardley to see that I prize his holy words—for, oh! I need them—I need the comfort and strength which only religion can give. It would be a pleasure, too, to look on the face of my sweet young mistress; I would not speak to her—oh, no—but I do so long to see her; and I would quietly slip away as soon as the prayer was done.”
The resolution thus taken seemed to calm the mind of Lottie, or perhaps Nature at last was claiming her rights, and sorrow of mind gave way to overpowering weariness of body. Deeply and peacefully the young girl slept, with her hands folded as if in prayer.