Miss Churton raised her pale face, and brushed her tears away with an angry gesture. “Forgive me, mother, for such an exhibition of weakness. I sometimes forget that you have ceased to love me. Please say what you wish, make things clear, add as many reproaches as you think necessary, and then let me go to my room.”
Mrs. Churton checked an angry reply which rose to her lips, and sat down. She too was growing tired of this unhappy conflict, and her daughter's tears and bitter words had given her keen pain. “Constance, you would not say that I do not love you if you could see into my heart. God knows how much I love you; if it were not so I should have ceased to strive with you before now. I know that it is in vain, that I can only beat the air, and that only that Spirit which is sharper than a two-edged sword, and pierceth even to the dividing of the bones and marrow, can ever rouse you to a sense of your great sin and fearful peril. I know it all only too well. I shall say no more about it. But I must speak to you further about this young girl, who has been entrusted to my care. When I replied to the advertisement respecting her, I thought too much about our worldly affairs and the importance of this money to us in our position, and without sufficiently reflecting on the danger of bringing a girl at so impressible an age under your influence. The responsibility rests with me, and I cannot help having some very sad apprehensions. Wait, Constance, you must let me finish. I have settled what to do, and I have Miss Starbrow's authority to take on myself the guidance of the girl in all spiritual matters. I spoke to her about it, and regret to have to say that she seems absolutely indifferent about religion. I was deeply shocked to hear that Miss Affleck has never been taught to say a prayer, and, so far as Miss Starbrow knows, has never entered a church. Miss Starbrow seemed very haughty and repellent in her manner, and declined, almost rudely, to discuss the subject of religious teaching with me, but would leave it entirely to me, she said, to teach the girl what I liked about such things. It is terrible to me to think how much it may and will be in your power to write on the mind of one so young and ignorant, and who has been brought up without God. Constance, I will not attempt to command, I will ask you to promise not to say things to her to destroy the effect of my teaching, and of the religious influence I shall bring to bear on her. I am ready to go down on my knees to you, my daughter, to implore you, by whatever you may yet hold dear and sacred, not to bring so terrible a grief on me as the loss of this young soul would be. For into my charge she has been committed, and from me her Maker and Father will require her at the last day!”
“There is no occasion for you to go on your knees to me, mother. I repeat that I will obey your wishes in everything. Surely you must know that, however we may differ about speculative matters, I am not immoral, and that you can trust me. And oh, mother, let us live in peace together. It is so unspeakably bitter to have these constant dissensions between us. I will not complain that you have been the cause of so much unhappiness to me, and made me a person to be avoided by the few people we know, if only—if only you will treat me kindly.”
“My poor girl, do you not know that it is more bitter to me, a thousand times, than to you? Oh, Constance, will you promise me one thing?—promise me that you will go back to the Bible and read the words of Christ, putting away your pride of mind, your philosophy and critical spirit; promise that you will read one chapter—one verse even—every day, and read it with a prayer in your heart that the Spirit who inspired it will open your eyes and enable you to see the truth.”
“No, mother, I cannot promise you that, even to save myself from greater unhappiness than you have caused me. It is so hard to have to go over the old ground again and again.”
“I have, I hope, made you understand my wishes,” returned her mother coldly. “You can go to your room, Constance.”
The other rose and walked to the door, where she stood hesitating for a few moments, glancing back at her mother; but Mrs. Churton's face had grown cold and irresponsive, and finally Constance, with a sigh, left the room and went slowly up the stairs.