The hidden treasure

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

If Anne had yielded to these convictions, if she had listened to the voice speaking within her, she might indeed have been unhappy for a time; but her sorrow would not have been bitter, and she would soon have found peace. But she would not yield—not one inch. To do her justice, it was no fear of consequences which kept her back. She would have gone to the stake as cheerfully as any martyr that ever died. But her pride rose in arms, that pride which was her strongest characteristic, and which waxed stronger and stronger, because she never acknowledged its existence to herself. Was she to confess that all her life had hitherto been wrong and mistaken? Was she, the pattern to the pupils, and even to the elder sisters, the prospective prioress, the future abbess, perhaps, to own that she had no title to all these honors, that she was no saint, but a miserable sinner, that instead of doing anything to purchase the salvation of others, she could only sue as a beggar for her own?

There is no passion of the human heart harder to deal with than pride, even when we have all the helps which grace can give. It is hard to descend into the valley of humiliation and to catch no slips by the way; if we do chance to fall, our enemy is always ready to take advantage of our fall to disturb our rest; yet, when we are summoned to descend into this valley, there is no peace to be found but in obedience to the call. Anne heard the summons, and in her heart of hearts she felt that it came from God; but she was determined not to obey. She fought against conviction with all her might, but as yet the voice would not be silenced nor leave her, and the combat had to be fought out anew every day. Her life was made wretched by the discord in herself, and in her desperate distress, she visited her own wretchedness on all around her, especially on Jack, whom she looked upon as the cause of all her trouble. She knew that he prayed for her, and tried to be kind and patient with her, and that provoked her worst of all. She redoubled her devotions and penances, but she had lost all comfort in them. She would have eased her mind by confession, but, angry as she was at Jack, she hesitated at putting his life into the hands of Father Barnaby. Besides, the father was very busy preparing for his journey to London, and had no time to hear confessions at present, so she must even bear her burdens alone.

"Here is Father Barnaby asking for you, Jack," said Master Lucas, coming into the sitting-room where Jack was at work with his books. "He is just about to set out on his journey, and wants a word with you at the door."

"With Jack, father?" said Anne, in a tone of uneasiness. "Are you sure?"

"I know only what he said, sweetheart. He asked for Jack. Hurry, my son, and do not keep the father waiting."

Anne would have liked to listen, but she dared not do so, though she came into the shop. She saw the father give Jack a couple of books which Jack received with all due reverence, exchange two or three remarks with her father, and apparently decline politely an invitation to take some refreshment. Then, bestowing his blessing, Father Barnaby rode away as it seemed, in a very good humor; and Master Lucas and his son came back into the shop.

"What did Father Barnaby say?" asked Anne.

"He gave me the books he promised me, and advised me to study them," replied Jack. "I am sure I shall do so with pleasure, for he knows a great deal more about Horace than Master Crabtree does."

"Horace," said Anne in a disappointed tone. "You must be mistaken, Jack. I am sure Father Barnaby does not concern himself about such heathen and secular learning."

"Look for yourself," said Jack, smiling. "Here are the two volumes both of his own writing, one upon the Eleventh Ode of Horace, and the other on the Latin metres. Father Barnaby is a great student of the Latin poets."