THE PRIZE.
But when the morning came she could find no plausible excuse for
absenting herself from the prize-giving. Her head was better, though she
still looked pale, and Mrs. Woburn, who was to accompany the two girls,
would not hear of her remaining at home.
Sick at heart, and anxious for the whole business to be over, Ruth
followed her aunt and cousin into the schoolroom, where the desks had
been cleared away, and the drawings and work of the pupils were arranged
for exhibition.
A number of visitors had already arrived, and were walking round
inspecting the drawings, etc., and chatting in little groups, until Mr.
Redcliffe, a gentleman of influence and wide repute, entered the
schoolroom and took his seat. He made a little speech upon the value of
education, complimented Miss Elgin upon her excellent system of
instruction and the proficiency of her pupils, and said a few words of
congratulation and encouragement to each of the girls as they came
forward to receive their prizes.
Ruth's turn came last, and perhaps on that account his words to her were
even kinder and more appreciative. He considered that the prize for
general improvement was perhaps better worth having than any other,
because, in order to gain it, one must indeed have proved worthy, he
said to the blushing girl who stood before him, trembling and full of
shame, which, however, appeared to be humility.
The longed-for moment had come at last, and Ruth held in her hand the
prize for which she had worked and striven. Yes, she had gained it, but
at what a cost!
At the cost of truth and honour, of right principle and self-respect. It
was a very poor exchange for them, and the unhappy girl would gladly
have given it up, would have borne any disappointment, anything but the
humiliation of confession, to have been her old light-hearted innocent
self again. But she had done wrong, and although she shrank from pain,
she had to bear what, in her state of mind, was indeed a trial--the kind
congratulations of her school-fellows, and the praises of her teacher
and friends. Even when she reached home the trial was not over, for her
uncle and cousins had each some kind word to say.
"And now, my dear, you must write to your father and mother," said Mrs.
Woburn that afternoon. "How proud and delighted they will be to hear of
your success!"
_That letter!_ It was the hardest task of all to write and tell her
parents what she knew would give them so much pleasure, while she was
concealing the fact which would, if known, give them far greater pain.
She spent the afternoon writing and re-writing it, and at last sent off
a stiff, constrained little note, informing them that she had been
successful, and hoped they were all well.
When Mrs. Arnold received the letter, she read it again and again. She
felt convinced, from the absence of any playful remarks, from Ruth's
unusual brevity and lack of detail, that something was wrong; but she
knew that if her daughter did not write freely she could not _force_ her
confidence. So she carried the trouble to her Heavenly Father, and asked
Him to lead and guide her absent child.
Christmas was upon them almost before Ruth was aware of it, the gayest
and most festive Christmas time that she had ever known, a round of
parties, pleasure and merriment. It needs a mind at peace to be able to
enter into and enjoy the innocent pleasures of life, and to feel no
bitterness when they are past. And Ruth, in spite of the presents she
received, the parties to which she was invited, and the pretty dresses
she wore, was troubled in mind, and therefore unhappy.
Two things weighed heavily upon her, her own deceit, and her promise to
Gerald.
She had been so carefully trained, and so early taught the difference
between right and wrong, that she could not look upon her prize without
being reminded of the temptation to which she had so suddenly yielded,
and the equivocation to which she had resorted in order to hide it.
Then her promise to Gerald troubled her greatly. She felt almost sure,
though she could not prove it, that he was not keeping his word. He came
down in the morning very late, looking pale and haggard, scarcely tasted
his breakfast, and hurried away to the office; and when he returned in
the evening either pooh-poohed his mother's anxious inquiries about his
health, or answered her curtly and snappishly.
Everything was going wrong, Ruth said to herself continually.
She had done very wrong, had taken a false step, and she felt truly
enough that no power on earth could alter that fact. And having once
started on a downward path it seemed of no use to try to stop and to do
better in future: she must give up all her struggles to do right, and go
down, down. It requires a very hardened sinner to forget the past, and
begin again as if nothing had happened; or a very humble Christian to
start again, after repeated failures, in dependence upon God. Ruth's
self-sufficiency was gone, and she sadly admitted to herself that she
was no better than Julia and the other girls. She had given up reading
her Bible now, thinking its sweet messages were not for her, a wayward,
erring one, and would scarcely dare to pray even for the safety and
well-being of the dear ones at home. Too broken-spirited to make
resolutions which she felt herself to be too weak to carry out, afraid
to open her Bible and read therein her own condemnation, and feeling
that her sin had raised a barrier, which she was unable to remove,
between herself and God, the New Year began in sorrow and sadness. "Your
sins have separated between you and your God." These words were
continually in her mind, and the remembrance of the peace and joy which
she had once felt in thinking of the things belonging to the kingdom
only made her more miserable.