“I had hated them; and the vision of our Holy Saviour, bleeding, suffering, praying for his murderers, rose before me.
“They had been kind to me—most kind, most indulgent. Because their ways were not my ways, must they be condemned? and I had cast them off in my arrogance, thinking I could govern myself.
“How could they guess what feelings of yearning and love, and what agony of expectation had been in my heart all the evening? The wrong lay in my own thoughts—kindness made them insist upon my going up stairs at the right hour. Must they not have thought it weariness that prevented my joining the plays of the others?
“Oh, how humbled I felt. And that cross word to Robbie—could I ever wipe out the evil it had done? Could I ever get back the love he had given me so freely before? Oh, sad, sad thought! The anger, and taunting, and neglected prayers, were they not written in God’s great book? It was my sin—mine. I fancied my poor cousin, trembling before God’s awful look, and the sin caused by my impatience brought before him. And had I not brought shame on Christ? I who called myself his child, and said I lived by his rule, and yet could bear up no better than that?
“I took my candle, and crossing the hall, I knocked at my cousin’s door. Robbie opened it. His eyes were red—he had been weeping. I was so touched that, for a moment, the words would not come; then I said:
“‘Oh, Robbie, I am so sorry I was cross this evening. I wanted to hear about papa, and I was so afraid your speaking to me would make me miss something. Indeed, I’m sorry.’
“‘Never mind—I was more cross to you—I’m sorry, too,’ was his answer.
“‘It was so wicked in me—and—and I was afraid you would not say your prayers right when you were angry,’ I continued, afraid to look at him.
“‘I will now. Don’t worry. Good night;’ and he shut the door, pretending to be gruff that he might not show how much he felt.
“I was almost happy now; but I thought I should keep awake till aunt Marion came up stairs, that I might tell her of my sorrow for not obeying her promptly. When I went back, Cora was tossing about restlessly on the bed, her face was burning hot—she muttered words in her troubled sleep.