“IT passes my comprehension how a man with no more development of brain-power than that one possesses made the mistake of thinking he was called to preach!”

This was what Judge Burnham said, as he walked with his wife home from the morning service.

“Did you ever hear an effort more devoid of ideas? What possible good can he think he has accomplished, if that is his motive? Or how can he have sufficient vanity to imagine that it is other than a bore to listen to him?”

Ruth hesitated for her answer. It was not that she had been so impressed with the sermon, it was rather the text that had been preached to her; and she did not feel personally sensitive in regard to Judge Burnham’s opinion of this particular minister. I think the reason that the words struck sharply on her heart was because they revealed her husband’s utter lack of sympathy with the subject matter of the sermon. He was speaking solely from a critical, intellectual standpoint, without, apparently, a conception of any spiritual power connected with the “foolishness of preaching.” The sentence revealed to Ruth, as with a flash of light—such as reveals darkness—the fact that her husband had no sympathy with Christ or his servants, as such. Of course, she had known this before; but to know a thing and to feel it are two very different matters.

“I was not thinking of the newness of the truth,” she said, after a little, speaking hesitatingly. “It impressed me, however. A thing does not need to be new in order to be helpful; it may be as old as the earth, and we never have given it attention.”

“Possibly,” he said lightly. “There are things so old and so tiresome that we do not care to give them special attention; I am entirely willing to class that sermon among such, if you say so. I declare I had not realized that a sermon could be such a trial to me. I don’t quite see what is to be done; I suppose your orthodoxy will not permit of your staying at home on Sabbath, and I’m sure we can not tolerate that sort of preaching—I suppose he calls it preaching. How shall we manage?”

Still Ruth had no answer ready. Every word that he spoke served to increase the heavy weight at her heart; and, despite her shivering effort to get away from it, there rang the question, “How can two walk together except they be agreed?” Yet she realized only too well that the time for settling that question was long past; that she had taken solemn and irrevocable vows upon her, and must abide by them. The question now was, How was she so to walk with him as not to dishonor Christ?

“I have no fault to find with the man’s preaching,” she said, coldly; and her husband laughed good-naturedly, and told her he appreciated her well-meant efforts to make the best of everything, but, unfortunately, she had too much brain to allow him for a moment to believe that such weak attempts at oratory satisfied her. Then he changed the subject, talking of matters as foreign to Ruth’s thoughts as possible, and yet serving, by their very distance from her heart, to press the weight of pain deeper. Her eyes once widely opened, it seemed that everything which occurred that day served to show her more plainly the gulf which lay between her ideas, and plans, and hopes, and those of her husband.

“What a glorious day this is!” he had said, as they turned from the dinner table. “I declare I believe the country is ahead of the city! on such days as these, any way. Ruth, what do you say to a ride? It would be a good time to explore that winding road which seemed to stretch away into nowhere.”

While he waited, he watched with surprise the flush which deepened and spread on his wife’s face. It so happened that the question of Sabbath riding for pleasure was one which had come up incidentally for discussion one evening at Flossy Shipley’s, during Mr. Roberts’ visit, and Ruth, who had taken the popular view of innocent Sabbath recreation, had discussed the matter with keen relish, finding Mr. Roberts able to meet her at every point. She had been first annoyed to find her position open to so much objection, then interested to study the question in all its bearings, and ended, as such a frank, intelligent and thoroughly sincere nature as hersmust end, in abandoning a position which she saw was untenable, and coming strongly over to the other side; since which time the observance of the Sabbath had been one of her strong points. Judge Burnham had respected her scruples, so far as he knew them, but, truth to tell, he did not understand them very well. Having no personal principle in the matter by which to judge, he was in danger of erring in unthought of directions, and every new phase of the same question demanded a new line of reasoning. It had not so much as occurred to him that his wife would see any impropriety in riding out in her own carriage, on the Sabbath day, with her husband, on a quiet, unfrequented country road.

While she hesitated he watched her curiously.

“Well,” he said, laughing, at last, “what is the trouble? You look as though I had broken all the commands in the Decalogue. Am I on forbidden ground now?”

“Not all the commands,” Ruth said, trying to smile; “but you seem to have forgotten the Fourth.”

“I am not sure that I know it. I am not thoroughly posted as to the commandments—the position in which they stand at least. What is wrong, Ruth?”

“Judge Burnham, I don’t like to ride out for pleasure on Sabbath.”

“What! not with me? Is it wicked to have a pleasant time on Sabbath? I didn’t know that. I fail to see why we can’t be as good sitting together in the carriage as we are sitting together in the parlor. Or should we spend this day apart, enjoying the luxury of melancholy reflection?”

“I think you know what I mean. You are much too well versed in argument to be entirely ignorant of people’s views in regard to this day.”

“Upon my word, Ruth, I was never more innocent. I might be able to see some force in a young lady’s objection to riding out with a young gentleman, especially in a city, or in a crowded thoroughfare, though even such things may be carried to excess; but when it comes to one’s husband, and a country road where we shall not meet three people in an hour, I confess I am befogged. Susan, do you see the bearings of this case?”

“Why, I see a good many bearings which you would not admit, and possibly you could bring to bear a good many arguments which I would not admit. We start from different standpoints. It all resolves itself into whether we believe the word of God or not, and I accept it as our rule of life.”

“Why, no, it doesn’t. I believe the word of God; in a measure at least. I have respect for the Sabbath as an institution, and believe in its sacredness. I have no sort of fault to find with ‘Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.’ I believe it was a good, sensible law. But we should very likely quarrel over the word ‘holy.’ I should object to the narrowness which made it so falsely holy that I could not enjoy a ride with my wife after church, and I should have serious doubts as to whether you could prove your side of the question from the Bible.”

“Listen to one Bible argument, then,” Susan said, quietly, “and tell me what you think it means. ‘If thou turn away thy foot from doing thy pleasure on my holy day, and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honorable, and shalt honor Him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words.’ What do you think of that argument for my side, Judge Burnham?”

The gentleman addressed looked his embarrassment and annoyance. The verse quoted sounded strangely new and solemn to him. His inner consciousness was made certain that he was not ready to gauge his Sabbath employments by that rule.

“Oh, well,” he said, restlessly, “that verse would have to affect other things besides riding out in the country; it has to do with home-life, and words, and acts, as well.”

“It certainly has,” Susan answered. And she spoke as if she thought it in no degree lessened the force of the argument, because the obligation reached in many directions.

“I suppose,” Ruth said, “there is no question but that the Sabbath is very poorly observed; still that is hardly an argument for increasing the ways for dishonoring it, is it?”

Then Judge Burnham turned on his heel and went off to the piazza, deigning no reply to the general question that his wife had put. As for herself, she struggled with the sense of pain that kept increasing, and wondered how she should shape her life. Apparently, Judge Burnham became ashamed of his rudeness, for he returned presently to the parlor, whither Ruth had gone to wait for him, and seating himself near her, with some pleasant remark as far removed from the recent subject as he could make it, took up a book and seemed to lose himself in it. Ruth followed his example, the book she took being the elegantly bound Bible that her father had sent to grace the table. Instinctively she turned to the chapter from which the haunting verse came, and slowly, carefully, read it over. Presently what had been a pretense with Judge Burnham became reality. He was interested in his book, which interest he evidenced by a burst of laughter.

“This is really rich,” he said. “Listen to this sarcasm, Ruth; see if you ever heard anything touch deeper.” And then he read from the sparkling, satirical, popular writer, a dozen sentences of brilliant sarcasm concerning one of the scientific questions of the day—keen, sharp, sparkling with wit and strength, but having to do with a subject for which Ruth had no sympathy at any time, and which especially jarred upon her this Sabbath afternoon. Her husband looked up from his reading to meet the answering flash of the eyes which he liked so well to see kindle, and met the objection on her face, and felt the lack of sympathy with his enjoyment. “I beg your pardon,” he said, abruptly, “I had forgotten your Puritan ideas. Possibly I am infringing again on the sacredness of your Sabbath.”

“I certainly think that the sentiments of that book are not in accordance with the Bible idea of the sacredness of the day.” If Ruth could only have kept her voice from sounding as cold as an iceberg, she might have had some influence.

As it was, he arose with a decided frown on his fine face. “I see, Ruth,” he said, speaking as coldly as she had herself, “that we assuredly have nothing in common for this day of the week, whatever may be said of us on other days. It is a pity that the ‘sacredness of the Sabbath’ should be the only element of discord between husband and wife. As I am in continual danger of erring unconsciously, I will have the grace to leave you in solitude and religious enjoyment,” and with a courtly bow he left her to herself, and her large, open Bible, and her sad heart.

A little later Susan came in, and stopping beside her looked down the page of the Bible. Ruth laid her finger on the words of the morning text: “It is all true, Susan,” she said gravely. “I don’t believe there is any person living who realizes it more fully than I do. ‘That which satisfieth not.’ One may do one’s best, and succeed in accomplishing, and it is unsatisfying.”

“Have you answered the question, Ruth, dear?”

“Whose question?”

“The Holy Spirit’s—Wherefore, do ye? That is what he asks. Do you understand why we try to satisfy our souls on husks, instead of wheat?”

“Well,” Ruth said, thoughtfully, “things have to be done.”

“Of course; but why should we stop among the things expecting satisfaction, or allow them to take other than the subordinate place they were meant to occupy? Ruth, I think the trouble with you is, you do not read the whole verse. You feel that you have proved the truth of the first part of it, in your own experience Why don’t you try the rest?”

“Just what do you mean?”

“Why, listen; ‘Hearken unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness.’ Don’t you see what an assurance that is, that the feast is spread? There is prepared that which will satisfy; why not hearken to the voice of the Master of the feast?”

Ruth lifted to her sister’s face earnest eyes, that filled with tears.

“I have tried to ‘hearken,’” she said, in a voice that was husky with feeling. “I have heard his voice and have tried to follow him and, at times, as I have told you before, he has seemed very near, but the feeling does not stay. I am up on the Mount one day, more than satisfied, and the next day I have dropped down and lost my comfort.”

“Yes, I know that story in all its details. I have lived it. In my own case it was because I ceased ‘hearkening’ for his voice. I placed other things first. I thought first of what I was going to do, or have, or be, instead of putting Christ first.”

“Ruth, don’t you know He says: ‘For I the Lord thy God am a jealous God?’ How often I have thought of that! He will not abide with a divided heart; he must be first; and, for myself, I did not for years keep him first. God was not in all my thoughts.”

“I don’t know,” Ruth said, speaking slowly after a long silence, and she spoke with a long drawn sigh.

“I don’t know that I can ever get back to where I was, even three weeks ago. Something has dropped like a pall upon my joy in religion. I never had much joy in anything. Really, it isn’t my nature to be joyful. Perhaps I should not expect it.”

Susan, smiling, shook her head. “That won’t do, you know. Joy is one of the fruits that you are commanded to bear. It is not optional with you. ‘The fruit of the Spirit is love’—joy—you remember. It is not the joy of nature that you and I are to look for, but the joy of grace. Ruth, if I were you, I would not try to go back to three weeks ago, I would try to go back to Christ and ask him to hold you, and lead you, and speak for you, and in this, your time of special need, not to let you drop for one moment away from him.”

But who shall account for the perversity of the human heart? Something in the simple, earnest words were translated by Satan to mean to Ruth a reflection against her husband. She lifted her head haughtily and the tremor went out of her voice. “I don’t know what you mean by my ‘time of special need;’ I do not know that one’s life, humanly speaking, could be more carefully shielded than mine. I have no anxiety as to Judge Burnham’s position in regard to these questions; he will respect my wishes and follow my plans.”

To this Susan had no answer. Had she spoken at all, she feared she would have shown Ruth that her own words were not strictly true. She believed her at this moment to be weighed down with a sense of her husband’s influence over her.

When the bell tolled for evening service, Susan and the two daughters of the house came down attired for church.

“Going again?” queried Judge Burnham, with uplifted eyebrows. “Ruth and I have had enough for to-day.” And Ruth, sitting back in the easy chair, with a footstool at her feet, and a sofa pillow at her head, and a volume of sacred poems in her hand, neither raised her eyes nor spoke.

“Thou shalt have no other gods before me.” This sentence stayed persistently with Susan Erskine. What had it to do with Judge Burnham and his wife that they, too, should remind her of it?