"Paul is very wise," she told herself, "he will not have so hard a time to understand as I. He will soon see when he comes to read the dear book that God lives; then he will love him, and he will get rest to his soul and stay much at home, and then so happy will we be."
In a few days Paul came, bringing as he always did loving greeting. He was not insensible to the fact that it was a pleasant thing to have such comfortable headquarters, and a pretty creature ready to minister to him, glad to obey his slightest nod, for Juana, spirited maiden though she was, had found in Paul her master, bending her head meekly to the reins that were not always silken, or guided by a gentle hand; consequently her married life had flowed on without a ripple of discord, and thus far conscience had put in no parleying voice. Why would she not gladly please and obey him? Was not her Paul the embodiment of manly beauty, grace and goodness?
"My love doth so approve him, that even his stubbornness, his checks and frowns have grace and favor in them," was the honest feeling of this deluded soul.
It was pitiful to see her childlike trust thrown back upon itself when she first told Paul the glad secret that she had been keeping for him, pouring out with sweet enthusiasm the story of her struggles and triumphs. Paul sat like a stone giving no word or sign of sympathy, but as she went on pledging undying faith and love to her new master, he grew darkly angry, and then, when eager to justify herself and convince him, she placed in his hands her Bible, saying, "Do, dear Paul, read about the wonderful Christ Jesus for yourself; you will see it is all true," he dashed the book from him and strode out of the room.
Juana picked it up with a low cry of pain and a tender clasping of it to her heart, as if it had been human and was hurt, too.
The young husband would have been jealous indeed, could he have seen her hasten to her chamber, and tell all her sorrows in another ear than his own.
He waited sullenly for Juana to come to him with penitential tears, and promises that she would certainly abjure any faith that did not meet his perfect approval. He waited in vain, though, and was not a little puzzled by the gentle sad dignity of her manner. He finally resolved to treat the whole affair as a bit of childish nonsense, and little by little in the gayeties that should surround her, she would forget her new whims.
To please her husband Juana accompanied him once to the theatre, and spent one night whirling in the dance. Then this pagan girl's conscience asserted itself clearly and unmistakably. She was not thrown into a bewildering state of perplexity such as troubles young converts in our Christian land. She needed not to consult the authorities of any church, or inquire of wise theologians "what she must give up" if she became a disciple. Her heart in absolute self-abandon had turned to Christ, as naturally and gladly as the flower to the sun, and the way was not clearer for the dews and life-giving rays to reach the tiny blossom, than for his slightest wish or suggestion to reach and control his child. She knew, without settling it by a process of argument, that Christ and worldly pleasures are antagonistic, and that whoever merges heart and soul in the one must give up the other. To her surprise and delight she found, too, that the keen relish for scenes of revelry had left her. How could it be otherwise? Christ had come into her heart. By a law of natural philosophy, two bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time; so, by a law of divine philosophy, Christ and the world cannot occupy a soul at the same time; and every spiritually-minded Christian is acquainted with that law, either by sad or sweet experience.
Paul Everett loved his young wife as well as he was capable of loving anything besides himself. Like many weak, tyrannical natures, he rejoiced in a sense of ownership concerning her, and in the hitherto complete submission of her will to his. What, then, was his astonishment and anger when she told him, as gently as she could, that her conscience would not allow her any more to attend balls and theaters, or engage in several other forms of amusement which used to delight her?
What wonderful transformation was this? A wild, frolicsome girl, a doll, a plaything, suddenly discovering that she had a conscience, and asserting her right to rule her own soul, even daring to have a thought contrary from his!