Ruth Erskine's Crosses

by Pansy

There was for a few minutes no response from the sullen-browed girl, with her head bent low over the slate, as if during the intervals of this conversation she had eyes and thought only for the intricate problem before her. Presently she said, in exactly the same tone of repressed indignation which she had used before:

“I repeat that in my judgment my father is just as capable of deciding as to what gentlemen are suited to be my friends as a stranger can be.”

Marion drew back quickly; she caught her breath hard; this was a trying spot; what should she do or say? What would Ruth Erskine have done in her place? At the same time there was a sense of relief in believing that this young girl’s pride only was touched, not her heart. She was simply rebellious that “a stranger,” as she chose to call her, should presume to interfere with her friendships.

“I am not a stranger, Gracie,” she said, trying to speak in all gentleness. “I am your father’s wife, and have at his request assumed responsibilities concerning you, for which I am answerable, not only to him, but to God. When I tell you, therefore, what your father has had no means of knowing, until lately, that Prof. Ellis is the sort of man whom a young lady should shun, you ought to believe me, and to understand that my sole motive is your welfare.”

Then was Marion Dennis treated to a brilliant flashing of the handsome eyes of her daughter. The slate and book slid to the floor with an unheeded crash, as Gracie, rising and drawing up her tall form till it equalled her mother’s, said, in tones of suppressed passion:

“Marion Wilbur, you have no right to speak in that manner of Prof. Ellis, and I will not bear it!”

Then Marion Dennis drew back grieved and frightened, not at her own thrust—that was but the ill-temper of an angry girl—but because she began to fear that this man—this wolf in sheep’s clothing, whose chief entertainment hitherto had been to see how well he could play with human hearts—had dared to try his powers on Gracie Dennis. “I hope he will suffer for this,” she said, under her breath.

In the meantime what was to be said to the angry girl, whose passion had culminated in this outburst, and who then had thrown herself back into the chair, not weeping, not crushed and bleeding, but excitedly angry. And yet, feeling that she had said a very unwise and dangerous thing, and must answer for it—and yet not caring just now in what way she might be called upon to answer. Being still in the mood to be glad that she had said it she expected severity, and waited for it.

“Gracie,” said Marion, bending toward her, and I do not know that her voice had ever been gentler or her manner more quiet, “you do not mean to hurt me; I know you do not. We are too nearly related; we are sisters, and the Lord Jesus Christ is our Elder Brother. It is to him that I ask you to listen; it is to his judgment, not mine, that I ask you to defer. Will you lay this matter before him, and wait on your knees for his answer, and abide by it, never minding me? If you will the whole matter will be righted.”

Then she turned from her and went down to receive those calls, and get those little thrusts and pin-pricks which pricked so much deeper and left a keener sting because in general they were leveled at her husband instead of herself. Then she went out to that pretty table laid for three, and saw the grave-faced father, and heard his self-reproaches, and held back that which would have made him indignant in the extreme; and held back her own little sigh, and realized that life was not all sweetness, even while Ruth sat at home and envied her the brightness of her lot.