“If it were to win you to think in time, to withdraw from the evil and seek good, to come while it is called to-day,” said the Evangelist, with much stedfastness, “I would not mind even making you angry. I can dare anything in my Master’s service—oh, do not refuse the gracious message! Oh, do not turn a deaf ear. You may have forfeited this world, but, oh think of the next; as a Christian and a fellow-sinner——”
“Aunt Agatha!” cried Winnie, breathless with rage and shame, “do you mean to let me be insulted in your house?”
Poor Aunt Agatha had just come in, and knew nothing about Mrs. Kirkman and her visit. She stood at the door surprised, looking at Winnie’s excited face, and at the stranger’s authoritative calm. She had been out in the village, with a little basket in her hand, which never went empty, and she also had been dropping words of admonition out of her soft and tender lips.
“Insulted! My dear love, it must be some mistake,” said Aunt Agatha. “We are always very glad to see Mrs. Kirkman, as Mary’s friend; but the house is Mrs. Percival’s house, being mine,” Miss Seton added, with a little dignified curtsey, thinking the visitor had been uncivil, as on a former occasion. And then there was a pause, and Winnie sat down, fortifying herself by the presence of the mild little woman who was her protector. It was a strange reversal of positions, but yet that was how it was. The passionate creature had now no other protector but Aunt Agatha, and even while she felt herself assured and strengthened by her presence, it gave her a pang to think it was so. Nobody but Aunt Agatha to stand between her and impertinent intrusion—nobody to take her part before the world. That was the moment when Winnie’s heart melted, if it ever did melt, for one pulsation and no more, towards her enemy, her antagonist, her husband, who was not there to take advantage of the momentary thaw.
“I am Mary’s friend,” said Mrs. Kirkman, sweetly; “and I am all your friends. It was not only as Mary’s friend I was speaking—it was out of love for souls. Oh, my dear Miss Seton, I hope you are one of those who think seriously of life. Help me to talk to your dear niece; help me to tell her that there is still time. She has gone astray; perhaps she never can retrieve herself for this world,—but this world is not all,—and she is still in the land of the living, and in the place of hope. Oh, if she would but give up her evil ways and flee! Oh, if she would but remember that there is mercy for the vilest!”
Speaker and hearers were by this time wound up to such a pitch of excitement, that it was impossible to go on. Mrs. Kirkman had tears in her eyes—tears of real feeling; for she thought she was doing what she ought to do; while Winnie blazed upon her with rage and defiance, and poor Aunt Agatha stood up in horror and consternation between them, horrified by the entire breach of all ordinary rules, and yet driven to bay and roused to that natural defence of her own which makes the weakest creature brave.
“My dear love, be composed,” she said, trembling a little. “Mrs. Kirkman, perhaps you don’t know that you are speaking in a very extraordinary way. We are all great sinners; but as for my dear niece, Winnie—— My darling, perhaps if you were to go upstairs to your own room, that would be best——”
“I have no intention of going to my own room,” said Winnie. “The question is, whether you will suffer me to be insulted here?”
“Oh, that there should be any thought of insult!” said Mrs. Kirkman, shaking her head, and waving her long curls solemnly. “If anyone is to leave the room, perhaps it should be me. If my warning is rejected, I will shake off the dust of my feet, and go away, as commanded. But I did hope better things. What motive have I but love of her poor soul? Oh, if she would think while it is called to-day—while there is still a place of repentance——”
“Winnie, my dear love,” said Aunt Agatha, trembling more and more, “go to your own room.”