Every night she sought Gertrude's couch with the excuse, "I shan't have you with me long darling," and there cautioned her against the indulgence of those traits which would surely wean her husband's affection; or begged her to mark out and continue some course of study such as would fit her to be as useful a woman as her mother was.
Sometimes Gertrude was softened by Hannah's earnestness, and would promise any thing. At other times she would pout, or say:
"You talk as if Paul didn't love me much; but he does; no matter what I do wrong, he says he can't help loving me."
Then Hannah would urge a higher motive for self-discipline, even the favor of God; and the impulsive child would weep and confess:
"I'm sick of being naughty. I wish I could be good always."
Then they both would kneel while Hannah besought the blessing of her heavenly Father upon the child in the untried scenes before her.
Now the pleasure of working for one she loved was over; and there was nothing to do but to weep and pray, that out of seeming ill, (for she could not regard this unseasonable marriage otherwise than an event to be mourned,) God would bring good. Years after she knew that her prayers had been answered, and though she acknowledged that—
"God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform,"
yet with streaming eyes she gave to him all the glory.