PENITENT.
Marion's first plan in order to extend her religious influence was to
get up a small prayer-meeting in her room.
To be sure, the room was shared by three others, and she had never
quite gotten over the uncomfortable feeling that she was an intruder,
particularly as Susan so often showed hostility to her; but a
prayer-meeting surely was a thing no right-minded girl ought to object
to. Of Dorothy's approval she had no doubt. Gladys, if she did not
wish to stay, would go away without the least hesitation. Susan! What
Susan would do, who could tell? Knowing the need she had of a vital
change in character, in order to be a Christian, Marion made no
attempt to conceal from herself that her conversion alone was an
object worth earnest and constant prayer; really the reward for the
conquering of any diffidence she might have to overcome in instituting
the meeting. It was not an hour after she had decided upon the twelve
girls she would invite, before the tempter had her in his power again.
She was planning the order of exercises for the meeting, which was as
it should be; but it was not as right that she was leaping forward in
her thoughts to the criticisms which the girls would make upon the
part she should take, the hope that they would admire her fluency and
spirituality, and say to her when they were leaving the room,--
"O Marion! how much good you have done us! We shall be grateful to you
as long as we live."
If any one had told her that here, by this same desire for
self-aggrandizement, or, to call it by its more common name of
popularity, Susan had fallen, she would have been astonished indeed.
Prayer-meetings were by no means uncommon in this academy; but they
were under the care of a teacher, and it was not long before the
necessity of asking leave for the one in her room occurred to Marion;
but here was a difficulty! Would not Miss Ashton ask her questions
about this, which she would find difficult to answer; such as, "What
made her propose it? What did she expect to accomplish?" If she did
ask these, what could she say?
There followed another day of poor recitations, and Marion, for almost
the first time since she joined the school, was undeniably cross. By
night she was sitting on the penitential stool, ashamed, tired, and
full of wonder as to what had happened to her. As is not unusual in
such cases, she was inclined to blame every one but herself. Miss
Palmer had lost her patience with her because she hesitated over a
difficult place in her mathematical lesson, and had snapped her up
before the class; Anna Dawson had laughed at her blunder, and the
whole class had most unkindly smiled. Dorothy had put her arm around
her and asked her if she was sick, when she knew there was nothing the
matter with her. Even Gladys had stopped scratching with her
slate-pencil, looking at her in a way that said as plainly as words
could, "What a nervous thing you are, not to bear the scratching of a
pencil without wincing;" and as for Susan, tormenting as she had been
on other days, she had been angelic in comparison with this. After
all, she had too much good common-sense and true religious feeling to
sit upon her stool long without beneficial results. It was nearly time
for the lights to be put out before she began to see the first thing
to be done was the right one; that is always sure. Do the duty nearest
to you, then those more distant fall readily into line and are easily
met. This was, to see Miss Ashton, no matter how awkward it would be
to tell her that the thought of the prayer-meeting was first put into
her head by Miss Ashton's letter home; that before, her religious
influence had not been a thing of which she had for a moment thought,
but that now she wished to make it tell.
"I'll go at once," she said to herself. "I won't give it up because
I'm a coward. I shall not sleep a wink unless it's settled. Life is
short; death may come at any unexpected moment. I should not like to
have my Judge ask why I had not done my duty, when, perchance, I, even
I, might have been a poor, weak instrument, but still an instrument,
in saving a soul."
In this spirit Marion went to Miss Ashton's room, quite forgetting the
lateness of the hour, and knocked timidly at the door.
Miss Ashton, wearied by her day's anxieties, did not approve of these
late calls, and only answered them for fear of sickness, so it was
some time before she said, "Come in."
She was not surprised to see Marion, for Miss Palmer had already
reported her failure in the mathematical class; but she said kindly,
"What is wrong now, Marion? Have you had another letter from home?"
"No, Miss Ashton; it is--it was--I mean, I wanted to ask you if you
had any objection to my having a prayer-meeting in my room?"
"A prayer-meeting in your room?" repeated Miss Ashton. "Why do you ask
it?"
This was the question Marion had expected; but now, with Miss Ashton
looking straight in her eyes, she hesitated to answer it.
"I thought--I hoped," she blundered at last, "that I might do more
good,--might, perhaps, save Susan."
"I see," and Miss Ashton looked very grave now. "Your mother has told
you what I wrote her of your religious influence here, and you wish to
increase it; but why Susan particularly?"
Now Marion found herself unexpectedly in deep waters. If she attempted
to answer this question, what disclosures she would have to make! A
tell-tale! A mischief-maker! A character of all others she despised,
and so did, she well knew, the whole school. She hung her head, the
color coming into her face, and the tears into her eyes.
"There is something wrong here," Miss Ashton thought, but she only
said,--
"I know Dorothy is a good girl; I am very fond of Gladys; but why do
you select Susan as the one in the whole school to be prayed for, or
with?"
If an equivocation had been natural or easy to Marion, she might have
been ready with several now, which perhaps would have satisfied Miss
Ashton; but she was a straightforward, honest girl, who never in her
whole life had been placed before where she hesitated what to answer;
if she had been a culprit to-night, she would hardly have looked more
utterly discomfited than standing there trying to look Miss Ashton in
the face.
"You do not choose to answer me," Miss Ashton said after waiting a
moment. "Very well, then, we will go back to the prayer-meetings; I
think it would be unwise for you to attempt any such thing. You might
at first find a few girls who would be willing to come, but they would
soon tire of it, and you would find yourself alone, unless Dorothy's
kind heart made her willing to remain. Let me tell you, my dear
Marion, the best, in fact the only way for a pupil to exert a strong
and lasting religious influence is by living a consistent Christian
life. What you _are_ always tells, never what you may appear. If you
are truly desirous to exert this influence, you will let your
companions see it in your daily walk and conversation. All the
prayer-meetings you could have would be useless, if you yourself
failed in a Christian grace.
"To be kind, loving, gentle, true, faithful in all your duties, great
and small, that is what your parents and I hope for in you. I had
almost said, and I am sure you will not misunderstand me, I would
rather have the influence of good recitations, strict observance of
rules, lady-like behavior in all places and at all times, than a
prayer-meeting in your room every night in the week. Now it is late;
go back, and if you do not wish to tell me what is wrong with Susan, I
must be all the more observant of her myself. Good-night."
Marion said "Good-night" faintly; certainly this was a very different
reception from what she had expected. "She wants me to be perfect,"
she said to herself fretfully, "and she knows that I never can be;
then Susan! What have I done? Oh, dear! dear! I wish I had never
thought about a prayer-meeting."
So far she had only dimly seen where her motives had been wrong, but
she felt their check.
Fraeulein Sausmann met her on her way to her room.
"Why, Marione!" she said, drawing her little self erect, and trying to
look very dignified, "I am astonish! I am regret! You am very onright.
You am to be gone to Fraeulein Ashton next day and say you regret; I
determine on it! Marione, you stand-under?"
"I have just come from Miss Ashton," said Marion gravely.
"You has just come! Very bad. You _schlecht Fraeulein_! What you for
done?"
"Nothing, Fraeulein. At least," correcting herself as she remembered
Susan, "I hope nothing _schlecht_."
"You do not say right, Marione; I shame you German speak so
_schlecht_." Then the Fraeulein laughed merrily, and standing on the
tips of her little toes she kissed Marion on both cheeks.
The kisses went right to Marion's heart, cheered and comforted her so
her face had a less troubled look as she entered her room.
Susan was sitting at the table studying, and the searching glance she
gave her made the color rush into Marion's face.
"She's gone and told of me, the ugly, mean, old thing," thought Susan.
"I knew she would sooner or later. Now I'm in for it!"
In vain she tried to fasten her attention on her book again. Over and
over the consequences of the disclosure she went with beating heart.
"Oh, if I had never, never, never done it!" she said to herself in the
helpless, hopeless way that attends a wrong action. The short-lived
celebrity the story had given her had all died away, nothing remained
but this dreadful regret, and fear of what was to come.
When she saw Marion go into her bedroom, she had almost a mind to
follow her and confess the truth. Then she thought Marion knew it
already, had perhaps told Miss Ashton, and a better thing to do would
be to go to Miss Ashton and make the confession; to go at once, this
very night, before she had a chance to tell the whole school: perhaps
if she did, Miss Ashton would be merciful, would scold and forgive
her. She looked at the clock; if she made haste there would be five
minutes before they must put their lights out! Once done, what a
relief it would be!
She darted from the room, not daring to trust a moment's delay; but
when she reached the corridor the lights were already turned out. All
would soon be darkness, and then none were allowed to leave their
rooms.
But Susan was desperate now; she knew her way down the long flights of
stairs so well that she had no fear: her only thought was to reach
Miss Ashton, to confess, to know her punishment, if punishment there
were to be.
She flitted softly, like a ghost, through the long corridors, down the
long stairs; but when she came to Miss Ashton's door her gas was
turned out, and that meant she would not open her door again that
night.
"I'll knock! Perhaps, just perhaps, she will let me in;" but there was
no response to Susan's knock. She stood waiting until she shivered
with nervous dread from head to foot, then she crept back to her room,
and tossed restlessly through a weary night.