"Yes, darling," said Claude, in quite a different tone, "I know you are everything good; I sometimes wish I were more like you. Won't you help me to become better, May? Won't you save me from myself, and teach me to love what you love? Come, May, it is my last chance; surely you will not refuse me?"
And Claude took hold of my hand, and looked up pleadingly into my face.
It was a dreadful temptation, and a fierce struggle was going on in my mind. Whilst Claude had been angry and impatient it had been comparatively easy to be firm, but now, now that his voice was so pleading and so tender, now that his hand was laid so lovingly upon mine, now that his eyes were actually full of tears, I felt my resolution giving way, my faith failing.
What if, after all, Claude was right? What if I might be indeed the means of leading him to better things? Miss Richards seemed to think so, and Miss Richards was a good woman.
And yet, my conscience told me plainly enough, that the opinion of a good woman could not make a wrong action right. Was it right or wrong in the sight of God? That was the question, and every time I put it to my heart, the same answer came, in clear, unmistakable terms:
"Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers."
I saw the path of duty clearly before me, a hard and difficult path, so hard and so difficult that I nearly despaired of ever being able to tread it.
The temptation was indeed fierce and strong, and I was on the point of yielding. Claude saw this and spoke still more tenderly, and pressed the advantage he had gained as far as possible.
I darted up one earnest, imploring cry to my Lord for help. My prayer did not, even in thought, resolve itself into words, but it was the language of my innermost soul. And it was not left unanswered. Four words came into my mind at that moment, which enabled me to gain the victory.
As clearly as if the sunbeams which were streaming in at the window had written them on the wall of the room, these four words flashed across me: