“Why, I was at church. Where should I have been?”
“Do you mean to tell me that you know nothing of the disgraceful occurance last night in the hall?”
“What occurance, sir? Indeed, I know nothing. I was at church.”
“Robert, Robert, I am so disappointed in you! I believed you to be a manly young man, and a Christian. How could you so forget yourself as to engage in such an affair, and then pretend that you were at church! I was here in my room throughout, and heard your name called again and again. Because of your previous perfect record, no public punishment will be given you by the Faculty, but the other boys will be severely dealt with.”
“Professor, I have told you the truth. Goodbye,” and Robert staggered out to his own room, unable to fathom the depth of his misery. His poverty and his life of toil isolated him from the most of the students. How he longed for the quick understanding and sympathy of his lost friend Dauphin. He had made comparatively few acquaintances in college, and there had been but one, the young Latin professor, whom his heart had really claimed for a friend. And now that one was lost! That one despised him for a breaker of rules, and a liar. O it was too much! The tempter came, as he always does in the moment of our stress, and said, “Give it up. Give it all up. It’s no use. Go back home.”
The battle was fierce, and not soon over. But victory came—came through the stretched-out Hand that had brought him salvation. In the darkness of his extremity, the thought came to him that there was One who knew all, and, he knelt and poured out his soul to the comforting Christ.
Not for a moment afterward did Rob relax his conscientious work either in the class room or in such Christian duties as came his way. His manner became graver, if possible, and a little shyer, but there glowed upon the face of the lad a steady light that would often cause a wondering look from those who passed him by. He had conquered his own spirit, and trusting, he looked to God for his vindication and his reward.
Just before the commencement in June, an escapade of unusual viciousness caused the expulsion of Tom Wright and two of his fellows.
As the students gathered in the college chapel on the last day of school to hear the awards of prizes and scholarships that had been won during the year, and the white-haired president had come to the Ira Morton prize of $50 for the best Latin grades for the year, he paused, and wiping his spectacles, said, “In connection with the award of this prize, the Faculty have delegated to me another pleasant duty. The confessions of some students whom we were obliged to send home, during the past term, opened our eyes to the fact that we have had in our midst as true a hero as any knight of old; a lad whose courage and faithfulness under severe trial and severer suspicion and accusation has shown a quality of manhood and Christian spirit that honors this institution.” Briefly the president sketched the career of the boy, then added, “To the $50 Morton prize, the Faculty have added another $50 in recognition of the conflict and glorious victory of this young man. Mr. Robert Allen, come forward and receive the honor which is your due.”
In the years that were to come Robert Allen was to rise high in the world, and receive honor from his fellow men, but no honor nor applause ever was able to gladden his heart as did this vindication and victory he had won through Jesus Christ.