“Only a different hue is thrown over them. That makes all the difference sometimes;—and answers as well as if the things were altered; as long as we can make the hue last.”
“Only,” said she, beginning to chafe a little, again, “one cannot bear to be put upon.”
“Ah,” said I, gently putting my hand on her arm, “the Christian will even bear to be put upon, be it ever so much, and, for his Master’s sake, bear it patiently; and when he has so far subdued his feelings as to be able so to do, how glorious the triumph, the happiness, and peace that will take possession of his heart!”[3]
“Oh!” said she, after a moment’s deep pause, “what a cordial! How could you say it? What a mind you must have!”
“Not at all,” stammered I, feeling dreadfully stupid and humiliated.
“Could you say it all over again? I have such a poor head, and would so gladly retain it. You can’t, I suppose. Ah! well—‘the Christian can bear to be put upon,’—that was the text—that’s enough. It will bring all the rest to mind—the general effect, that is.”
“And you’ll try to act upon it?”
“Yes. I really will. I give you my word. Only it isn’t at all fair all the effort should be on one side. But I’ll try, though I’m sure I shall break down.”
“Oh no! I hope better things of you!”
“Ah, you don’t know me—I’m such a poor, weak creature. I don’t like him to say so, though,” she added, laughing, with one of those sudden transitions which seemed natural to her.