Was I right?

by Mrs. O. F. Walton

And now what answer should I give? I pressed my throbbing temples, and tried to think the matter over calmly and deliberately.

Did I love Claude Ellis? Yes, undoubtedly I loved him very much indeed; not in the same way, it is true, as I had imagined that I should love the one who was to become my husband, but still I loved him very warmly, us a sister loves a dear brother who has been everything to her since she was a little child. And surely a different kind of love for Claude might, and probably would, come in my heart after we were engaged.

And although Claude was certainly not at all like the husband that I had pictured to myself in the days long ago, when I was foolish enough to indulge in day-dreams, and although even now, at times, I longed, oh, how much! for some one to lean on—some one very wise, very good, very true, and infinitely better in every way than I was; and I had never pictured Claude to myself as the one who was to be all this to me; yet still he would be a kind, loving husband, and I might be very happy if I were his wife.

And I was so fond of Claude that I felt it would make me very miserable to feel that there was any estrangement or coldness between us, as there undoubtedly would be if I refused to be his wife. Our old friendship, which had lasted so long, would practically end, and when we met we should feel restrained and uncomfortable in each other's presence. I could not bear to think that such would be the case.

And then Miss Richards—how anxious she evidently was that I should use my influence with Claude! What would she say if I were to refuse him? How strange she would think it! How grieved and disappointed she would be!

And yet, with the thought of Miss Richards came the recollection of what she had told me of Claude, as we sat together in the arbour. Should I be happy with one as my husband who scorned the Book I loved best on earth, who slighted and neglected the Friend who was to me the chiefest among ten thousand?

Should I be happy with no family prayer in my household, with no reading of the Word of God, and with religious topics for ever banished, because husband and wife thought so differently about them? Would the love between us be perfect, the confidence unsullied, when there was one subject—and that one the subject nearest to my heart—on which we had no communion; one Name, and that one the Name above every name, which neither of us ever mentioned to each other? Should I be really happy, really contented with such a state of things?

And then came another question. Even supposing I should be happy, was it right for me to accept Claude's offer? Was it right in God's sight for me to marry one who was not a Christian? I knew there was a text somewhere in the Epistle to the Corinthians which spoke on this point. I opened my Bible and looked for it, and I found it in 2 Corinthians vi. 14:

"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness?"

It was a very clear command, and could not be mistaken. And yet I tried to argue myself into the belief that it did not apply to me. For in the first place, I reasoned, Claude was not a heathen as these Corinthians were. He did not worship gods of wood and stone. He was looked upon as a Christian, and lived and had been brought up in a Christian family. But the word unbeliever, conscience answered, surely includes every one that is not a believer.