"
"I thought I was to tell you."
"A while ago the postman brought me a note from your mother. She told me
that she had confessed to you something she told me last summer."
"Oh," exclaimed Marjorie, covering her face with both hands, "isn't it
too dreadful!"
"I think your mother saw clearly that she had taken your life into her
own hands without waiting to let God work for you and in you. I assured
her that I knew all about that dark time of yours, and she wept some very
sorrowful tears to think how heartbroken you would be if you knew.
Perhaps she thought you ought to know it; she is not one to spare
herself; she is even harder upon herself than upon other sinners."
"But, Aunt Prue, what ought I to do now? What can I do to make it right?"
"Do you want to meddle?"
"No, oh no; but it takes my breath away. I'm afraid he began to write to
me again because he thought I wanted him to."
"Didn't you want him to?"
"Yes--but not--but not as mother thought I did. I never once asked God to
give him back to me; and I should if I had wanted it very much, because I
always ask him for everything."
"Your pride need not be wounded, poor little Marjorie! Do you remember
telling Hollis about your dark time, that night he met you on your way
from your grandfather's?"
"Yes; I think I do. Yes, I know I told him; for he called me 'Mousie,'
and he had not said that since I was little; and with it he seemed to
come back to me, and I was not afraid or timid with him after that.
Pages:
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387