“And it seems plain to me, though, as everybody knows, I am a sceptic and an unbeliever, that He meant all His followers to live the same kind of life as He lived. Therefore, my child, you will put yourself on one side in this matter. Such petty things as anonymous letters are beneath you now; you must be invulnerable to the little stings which would force your thoughts upon yourself. Be a large-minded, large-hearted Christian, or none at all, Margaret. Christianity is not a creed; it is a life. Don’t you think so?”
“I do, indeed, thanks to your teaching.”
“Oh, no! I am a very irreligious person; but I do not want you to be.”
Margaret was right in saying that she owed everything to this old man, whom so many denounced. “He is perishing in his sins,” a man had said of him once, because, when he had been invited to a special service, he had replied with a laugh that he would rather have one to himself by the river. But Margaret, whom none ever heard say an unkind thing of another, whose very presence raised the tone of a garden party, who was the champion of the absent, whose loving nature made itself felt everywhere, had formed her opinions and habits after those of her guardian, and was much the better for it.
“Graf,” said Margaret, “a young woman has no right to come between a mother and a son, has she? If Mrs. Hunter regards me in this way I am sure Mr. Dallington must be unhappy about it.”
“I advise you not to mention this letter to him. He gave me to understand that he was not in a position to marry immediately; and while you are waiting things may right themselves. In any case, he is of age, and has a right to choose his own wife. I am glad he has chosen my child. He took me by surprise, though, because I thought he would marry Miss Tom Whitwell—for I have fancied many times since his return that she cared for him. But everything is as it should be. Hear what Browning says, ‘God’s in His heaven, all’s right with the world.’”
But the talk and the letter caused Margaret a sleepless night, though it was not so much the letter as the suggestion about her friend, Tom Whitwell. Can it be true? she asked herself many times; and she was half afraid it was, now that she thought things through. But she did not keep the trouble to herself; and her cry, “Show me the right, and give me strength to do it!” was certain of an answer.
CHAPTER XII.
A NEW ORDER.
Margaret Miller and Tom Whitwell read together an account of some meetings at which Arthur Knight had been speaking, and they confided to each other their own ideas on the subject. As the reader knows, each had her own reason for anxiety and trouble; but each felt that this was a time for laying all personal affairs and feelings on one side, and doing her part in the New Crusade which was being fought.
“We ought to do so, Margaret,” said Tom, “because I believe that for the existing state of things women must bear much of the blame. We have left off sending our knights to battle for God and the right, and we encourage them instead to take to money-grubbing in the city.”