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 224 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 225 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, 226 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, 227 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 228 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.

FrÄulein 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 FrÄulein Ashton next day and say 229 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 FrÄulein! What you for done?”

“Nothing, FrÄulein. 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 FrÄulein 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 230 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.