“Oh, well,” he said, restlessly, “that verse would have to affect other things besides riding out in the country; it has to do with home-life, and words, and acts, as well.”
“It certainly has,” Susan answered. And she spoke as if she thought it in no degree lessened the force of the argument, because the obligation reached in many directions.
“I suppose,” Ruth said, “there is no question but that the Sabbath is very poorly observed; still that is hardly an argument for increasing the ways for dishonoring it, is it?”
Then Judge Burnham turned on his heel and went off to the piazza, deigning no reply to the general question that his wife had put. As for herself, she struggled with the sense of pain that kept increasing, and wondered how she should shape her life. Apparently, Judge Burnham became ashamed of his rudeness, for he returned presently to the parlor, whither Ruth had gone to wait for him, and seating himself near her, with some pleasant remark as far removed from the recent subject as he could make it, took up a book and seemed to lose himself in it. Ruth followed his example, the book she took being the elegantly bound Bible that her father had sent to grace the table. Instinctively she turned to the chapter from which the haunting verse came, and slowly, carefully, read it over. Presently what had been a pretense with Judge Burnham became reality. He was interested in his book, which interest he evidenced by a burst of laughter.
“This is really rich,” he said. “Listen to this sarcasm, Ruth; see if you ever heard anything touch deeper.” And then he read from the sparkling, satirical, popular writer, a dozen sentences of brilliant sarcasm concerning one of the scientific questions of the day—keen, sharp, sparkling with wit and strength, but having to do with a subject for which Ruth had no sympathy at any time, and which especially jarred upon her this Sabbath afternoon. Her husband looked up from his reading to meet the answering flash of the eyes which he liked so well to see kindle, and met the objection on her face, and felt the lack of sympathy with his enjoyment. “I beg your pardon,” he said, abruptly, “I had forgotten your Puritan ideas. Possibly I am infringing again on the sacredness of your Sabbath.”
“I certainly think that the sentiments of that book are not in accordance with the Bible idea of the sacredness of the day.” If Ruth could only have kept her voice from sounding as cold as an iceberg, she might have had some influence.
As it was, he arose with a decided frown on his fine face. “I see, Ruth,” he said, speaking as coldly as she had herself, “that we assuredly have nothing in common for this day of the week, whatever may be said of us on other days. It is a pity that the ‘sacredness of the Sabbath’ should be the only element of discord between husband and wife. As I am in continual danger of erring unconsciously, I will have the grace to leave you in solitude and religious enjoyment,” and with a courtly bow he left her to herself, and her large, open Bible, and her sad heart.
A little later Susan came in, and stopping beside her looked down the page of the Bible. Ruth laid her finger on the words of the morning text: “It is all true, Susan,” she said gravely. “I don’t believe there is any person living who realizes it more fully than I do. ‘That which satisfieth not.’ One may do one’s best, and succeed in accomplishing, and it is unsatisfying.”