CHAPTER XXI.
RUTH AND HAROLD.
HERE had been in Judge Erskine's mind a slight sense of wonderment as to how he should meet his daughter the morning after his astounding appearance at prayer-meeting. Such a new and singular departure was it, that he even felt a slight shade of embarrassment.
But, before the hour of meeting her arrived, his thoughts were turned into an entirely new channel. He met her, looking very grave, and with a touch of tenderness about his manner that was new to her. She, on her part, was not much more at rest than she had been the evening before. She realized that her heart was in an actual state of rebellion against any form of decided Christian work that she could plan. Clearly, something was wrong with her. If she had been familiar with a certain old Christian, she might have borrowed his language to express in part her feeling.
"To will is present with me, but how to perform that which is good I know not." Not quite that, either, for while she said, "I can't do this thing, or that thing," she was clear-minded enough to see that it simply meant, after all, "I will not." The will was at fault, and she knew it. She did not fully comprehend yet that she had set out to be a Christian, and at the same time to have her own way in the least little thing; but she had a glimmering sense that such was the trouble.
Her father, after taking surreptitious glances at her pale face and troubled eyes, decided finally that what was to be said must be said, and asked, abruptly:
"When did you see Harold, my daughter?"
Ruth started, and the question made the blood rush to her face, she did not know why.