Marian shook her head. The time to own up was long passed. She stayed in her room and ate bread and water a week without protest. On Sunday afternoon she listened to the story of Ananias and Sapphira with teeth and fists tightly closed. She heard long speeches on the fearful consequences of stealing and lying, without a word. Only when questioned would she say in low spiritless tones, "I did not touch the cookies."
When it was all over, and Aunt Amelia and Uncle George gave up trying to wring a confession from her and the child was simply in disgrace, her own conscience began its work. It gave her no peace. Marian had said her prayers every night as Mrs. Moore had taught her when she was a baby; but she had repeated them quickly with her back turned towards heaven and had made no mention of cookies. At last, troubled by her conscience, and not knowing where to turn for comfort, Marian knelt by her bedside one night and tried an experiment.
"O Lord," she began, "I am not going to lie to you about the cookies. Thou knowest I took them. That is why I haven't said any made up prayers for so long. I knew Thou knewest how wicked I am and I know what the Bible says about lying lips. I am afraid of Aunt Amelia or I would own up. She says I won't go to heaven when I die because I am too bad to live there. Now, O Lord, I know I could be good in heaven, but it has been hard work on earth, and after I took the cookies I got wickeder and wickeder, but honest and truth I'll never do anything wrong again and I'll never tell another lie. Thou knowest I could be good in heaven. Please, O Lord, forgive me and take me straight up to heaven when I die. Amen."
That prayer didn't help Marian a bit. She could scarcely get off her knees when she had said "Amen." Her head seemed bowed down beneath a weight of cookies.
"You know what you must do," insisted her conscience, "you must go to your Uncle George and your Aunt Amelia first, first, I say."
"But I can't do that, and I'm so unhappy," sobbed Marian, but her conscience was pitiless. It would allow no compromise. "Oh, if I could see Nanna," whispered Marian as she crept into bed. No one had ever kissed her good-night but once since she had left the Home, and now, no one ever would again. The Father in heaven had turned away His face. Marian cried herself to sleep as she had many a night before.
In the middle of the night she awoke and sat up in bed, cold and trembling. Thunder was rolling through the sky and an occasional flash of lightning made the little room bright one minute and inky black the next. Perhaps the end of the world was coming when the graves would give up their dead and the terrible Judge would descend to deal with the wicked. A crash of thunder shook the house. Marian dived beneath the blankets, but a horrible thought caused her to sit bolt upright again. Aunt Amelia had told her that sinners, on the last day, would call for the rocks and mountains to fall upon them. Perhaps hiding beneath blankets meant the same thing. Another crash came and a blinding flash of lightning. Then another and another. Springing from her bed, Marian ran down the hall to Mrs. St. Claire's room. The door was closed but the room was lighted.
"Oh, let me come in," she cried, knocking frantically at the door and keeping her eye upon the crack of light at the bottom.
The response was immediate. Aunt Amelia stepped into the hall and closed the door behind her. "Go back to your room," she said, "and don't you dare leave it again. I should think you would expect the lightning to strike you!"