Kitabı oku: «The Letter of Credit», sayfa 19

"Motive! – " Mr. Busby began; but Rotha struck in.

"My motive was, that I wanted to do right; and I knew it was right that I should apologize."

"Then your motive was not that you were sorry for what you said?" Mrs.

Busby inquired magisterially.

Rotha was so astonished at this way of receiving her words that she hesitated.

"I am sorry, certainly, that I should have spoken rudely," she said.

"But not sorry for what you said?"

"You are splitting hairs, my dear!" said Mr. Busby impatiently.

"Let her answer – " said his wife.

"I do not know how to answer," said Rotha slowly, and thinking how to choose her words. "I am sorry for my ill-manners and unbecoming behaviour; I beg pardon for that. Is there anything else to ask pardon for?"

"You do not answer."

"What else can I say?" Rotha returned with some spirit. "I am not apologizing for thoughts or feelings, but for my improper behaviour. Shall I not be forgiven?"

"Then your feeling is not changed?" said the lady with a sharp look at her.

Rotha thought, It would be difficult for her feeling to change, under the reigning system. She did not answer.

"Pish, pish, my dear!" said the master of the house, – "you are splitting straws. When an apology is made, you have nothing to do but to take it. Rotha has done her part; now you do yours. Has Santa Claus come your way this year, Rotha?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did he bring you, hey?"

"Mrs. Mowbray gave me a Bible."

"A Bible!" Mrs. Busby and her daughter both exclaimed at once; "you said a bag?"

"I said true," said Rotha.

"She gave you a Bible and a bag too?"

"Yes."

"What utter extravagance! Had you no Bible already?"

"I had one, but an old one that had no references."

"What did you want with references! That woman is mad. If she gives to everybody on the same scale, her pocket will be empty enough when the holidays are over."

"But she gets a great deal of pleasure that way – " Rotha ventured.

"You do, you mean."

"Well, I am not so rich as Mrs. Mowbray," Mr. Busby said; "but I must remember you, Rotha." And he rose and went to a large secretary which stood in the room; for that basement room served Mr. Busby for his study at times when the table was not laid for meals. Three pair of eyes followed him curiously. Mr. Busby unlocked his secretary, opened a drawer, and took out thence a couple of quires of letter paper: 'sought out then some envelopes of the right size, and put the whole, two quires of paper and two packages of envelopes, into Rotha's astonished hands.

"There, my dear," said he, "that will be of use to you."

"What is she to do with it, papa?" Antoinette asked in an amused manner.

"Rotha has nobody to write letters to."

"That may be. She will have writing to do, however, of some kind. You write themes in school, don't you?"

"But then, what are the envelopes for, papa? We don't put our compositions in envelopes."

"Never mind, my dear; the envelopes belong to the paper. Rotha can keep them till she finds a use for them."

"They won't match other paper, papa," said Antoinette. But Rotha collected her wits and made her acknowledgments, as well as she could.

"Has Nettie shewn you her Christmas things?"

"No, sir."

"Well, it will please you to see them. You are welcome, my dear."

Rotha carried her package of paper up stairs, wondering what experiences would till out the afternoon. Her aunt and cousin seemed by no means to be in a genial mood. They all went up to the dressing room and sat down there in silence; all, that is, except Mr. Busby. Rotha's thoughts went with a spring to her bag and her books at Mrs. Mowbray's. Two o'clock, said the clock over the chimney piece. In three hours more she might go home.

Mrs. Busby took some work; she always had a basket of mending to do. Apologies did not seem to have wrought any mollification of her temper. Antoinette went down to the parlour to practise, and the sweet notes of the piano were presently heard rumbling up and down. Rotha sat and looked at her aunt's fingers.

"Do you know anything about mending your clothes, Rotha?" Mrs. Busby at last broke the silence.

"Not much, ma'am."

"Suppose I give you a lesson. See here – here is a thin place on the shoulder of one of Mr. Busby's shirts; there must go a patch on there. Now I will give you a patch – "

She sought out a piece of linen, cut a square from it with great attention to the evenness of the cutting, and gave it to Rotha.

"It must go from here to here – see?" she said, shewing the place; "and you must lay it just even with the threads; it must be exactly even; you must baste it just as you want it; and then fell it down very neatly."

Rotha thought, as she did not wear linen shirts, that this particular piece of mending was rather for her aunt's account than for her own. Lay it by the threads! a good afternoon's work.

"I have no thimble, – " was all she said.

Mrs. Busby sought her out an old thimble of her own, too big for Rotha, and it kept slipping off.

The rest of the history of that afternoon is the history of a patch. How easy it is, to an unskilled hand, to put on a linen patch by a thread, let anyone who doubts convince herself by trying. Rotha basted it on, and took it off, basted it on again and took it off again; it would not lie smooth, or it would not lie straight; and when she thought it would do, and shewed it to her aunt, Mrs. Busby would point out that what straightness there was belonged only to one side, or that there was a pucker somewhere. Rotha sighed and began again. She did not like the job. Neither had she any pleasure in doing it for her aunt. Her impatience was as difficult to straighten out as the patch itself, but Rotha thought it was only the patch. Finally, and it was not long first, either, she began to grow angry. Was her aunt trying her, she questioned, to see if she would not forget herself and be ill-mannerly again? And then Rotha saw that the cross was presented to her anew, under another form. Patience, and faithful service, involving again the giving up of her own will. And here she was, getting angry already. Rotha dropped her work and hid her face in her hands, to send up one silent prayer for help.

"You won't get your patch done that way," said Mrs. Busby's cold voice.

Rotha took her hands down and said nothing, resolved that here too she would do what it was right to do. She gave herself to the work with patient determination, and arranged the patch so that even Mrs. Busby said it was well enough. Then she received a needle and fine thread and was instructed how to sew the piece on with very small stitches. But now the difficulty was over. Rotha had good eyes and stitched away with a good will; and so had the work done, just before the light failed too much for her to see any longer. She folded up the shirt, with a gleeful feeling that now the afternoon was over. Antoinette came up from her practising, or whatever else she had been doing, just as Rotha rose.

"Aunt Serena," said the girl, and she said it pleasantly, "my stockings some of them want mending, and I have no darning cotton. If you would give me a skein of darning cotton, I could keep them in order."

"Do you know how?"

"Yes, ma'am, I know how to do that. Mother taught me. I can darn stockings."

Mrs. Busby rummaged in her basket and handed to Rotha a ball of cotton yarn.

"This is too coarse, aunt Serena," Rotha said after examining it.

"Too coarse for what?"

"To mend my stockings with."

"It is not too coarse to mend mine."

"But it would not go through the stitches of mine," said Rotha looking up. "It would tear every time."

"How in the world did you come to have such ridiculous stockings? Such stockings are expensive. I do not indulge myself with them; and I might, better than your mother."

"Poor people always think they must have things fine, I suppose," said Antoinette. "I wonder what sort of shoes she has, to go with the stockings?"

The blood flushed to Rotha's face; and irritation pricked her to retort sharply; yet she did not wish to speak Mr. Digby's name again. She hesitated.

"Whose nonsense was that?" asked Mrs. Busby; "yours, or your mother's? I never heard anything equal to it in my life. I dare say they are Balbriggans. I should not be at all surprised!"

"I do not know what they are," said Rotha, striving to hold in her wrath, "but they are not my mother's nonsense, nor mine."

"Whose then?" said Mrs. Busby sharply.

Rotha hesitated.

"Mrs. Mowbray's!" cried Antoinette. "It is Mrs. Mowbray again! Mamma, I should think you would feel yourself insulted. Mrs. Mowbray is ridiculous! As if you could not get proper stockings for Rotha, but she must put her hand in."

"I think it is very indelicate of Mrs. Mowbray; and Rotha is welcome to tell her I say so," Mrs. Busby uttered with some discomposure. Rotha's discomposure on the other hand cooled, and a sense of amusement got up. It is funny, to see people running hard after the wrong quarry; when they have no business to be running at all. However, she must speak now.

"It is not Mrs. Mowbray's nonsense either," she said. "Mr. Southwode got them for me."

"Mr. Southwode!" – Mrs. Busby spoke out those two words, and the rest of her mind she kept to herself.

"Mamma," said Antoinette, "Mr. Southwode is as great a goose as other folks. But then, gentlemen don't know things – how should they?"

"You are a goose yourself, Antoinette," said her mother.

"Have you no cotton a little finer? I mean a good deal finer?" said Rotha, going back to the business question.

"There are no stockings in my house to need it."

"Then what shall I do? There are two or three little holes in the toes."

"I will tell you. I will get you some stockings fit for you; and you may bring those to me. I will take care of them till you want them, which will not be for a long time."

Rotha turned cold with dismay. This was usurpation and oppression at once; against both which it was in her nature to rebel furiously. She was fond of the stockings, as of everything which Mr. Southwode had got for her; moreover they suited her, and she liked the delicate comfort of them. And though nothing less than suspicious, Rotha had a sudden feeling that the time for her to see her stockings again would never come; they would be put to other use, and Mrs. Busby would think it was a fair exchange. She would wear the coarse and Antoinette would have the fine. There was a terrible tempest in Rotha's soul, which nevertheless she did not suffer to burst out. She would appeal to Mrs. Mowbray. She took leave somewhat curtly, carrying her two quires of paper with her, but leaving the coarse darning cotton which she did not intend to use.

CHAPTER XX.
STOCKINGS

Rotha went home in a storm of feelings, so tumultuous and conflicting that her eyes were dropping tears all the way. All the strength there was in her rose against this new injury; while a feeling of powerlessness made her tremble lest after all, she would be obliged to submit to it. She writhed under the bonds of circumstance. Could Mrs. Mowbray protect her? and if not, must her fine stockings go, to be worn upon her cousin's feet, or her aunt's? The up-rising surges of Rotha's rage were touched and coloured by just one ray of light; she had entered a new service, she had therewith got a new Protector and Helper. That thought made the tears come. She was no longer a hopeless slave to her own passions; there was deliverance. "Jesus is my King now! he will take care of me, and he will help me to do right." So she thought as she ran along. For, precisely what Adam and Eve lost by disobedience, in one respect, their descendants regain as soon as they return to their allegiance and become obedient. The riven bond is united again; the lost protection is restored; they have come "from the power of Satan, to God"; and under his banner which now floats over them, the motto of which is "Love," they are safe from all the wiles and the force of the enemy. Rotha was feeling this already; already rejoicing in the new peace which is the very air of the kingdom she had entered; glad that she was no longer to depend on herself, to fight her battles alone. For between her aunt and her own heart, the battle threatened to be hot.

It was dinner-time when she got home, and no time to speak to Mrs. Mowbray. And Rotha had to watch a good while before she could find a chance to speak to her in private. At last in the course of the evening she got near enough to say in a low tone,

"Mrs. Mowbray, can I see you for a minute by and by?"

"Is it business?" the lady asked in the same tone, at the same time opening a Chinese puzzle box and putting it before another of her pupil- guests.

"It is business to me," Rotha answered.

"Troublesome business?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"We cannot talk it over here, then. I will come to your room by and by."

Which indeed she did. She came when the work of the day was behind her; and what a day! She had entertained some of her girls with a visit to the book-making operations of the American Bible Society; she had taken others to a picture gallery; she had packed a box to send to a poor friend in the country; she had looked over a bookseller's stock to see what he had that could be of service to her in her work; she had paid two visits to relations in the city; she had kept the whole group of her pupils happily entertained all the evening with pictures and puzzles; and now she came to be a sympathizing, patient, helpful friend to one little tired heart. She came in cheery and bright; looked to see if the room were comfortable and entirely arranged as it should be, and then took a seat and an air of expectant readiness. Was she tired? Perhaps – but it did not appear. What if she were tired? if here was more work that God had given her to do. She did not shew fatigue, in look or manner. She might have just risen after a night's sleep.

"Are you comfortable here, my dear?"

"O very, ma'am, thank you."

"Now what is the business you want to speak about?"

"I want you to tell me what I ought to do!"

"About what? Have you had a pleasant day?"

"Not at all pleasant."

"How happened that?"

"It was partly my fault."

"Not altogether?" Mrs. Mowbray asked with a smile that was very kindly.

"I do not think it was all my fault, ma'am. Partly it was. I lost my temper, and got angry, and said what I thought, and aunt Serena banished me. Then at luncheon I apologized and asked pardon; I did all I could. But that wasn't the trouble. Aunt Serena told me to bring her all my nice stockings, and she would get me coarser and commoner ones. Must I do it?" And Rotha's eyes looked up anxiously into the lace of her oracle.

"What made her give you such an order?"

Rotha hesitated, and said at last she did not know.

"Are your stockings too fine for proper protection to your feet in cold weather?"

"O, no, ma'am! nothing was said about that at all; only I am a poor girl, and have no business to have fine stockings."

"How came you to have them so fine?"

"They were given to me. They were got for me; by a friend who was not poor. Are they not mine now?"

"And you say your aunt wants them?"

"Says I must bring them to her, and she will get me some more fit for me."

"What does she want with them?" cried Mrs. Mowbray sharply.

"She says she has none so fine, and she will keep them till I want them; but when would that be?"

"What did you say?"

"I said nothing. I was too terribly angry. I got out of the house without saying anything. It all came from asking her for some darning cotton to mend them; and what she gave me was too coarse."

"I have got fine darning cotton," said Mrs. Mowbray. "I will give you some."

"Then you do not think I need let her have them? Dear Mrs. Mowbray, has she any right to take my things from me?"

"I should say not," Mrs. Mowbray answered.

"Then you think I may refuse when she asks me for them?" said Rotha, joyfully.

"What is your rule of action, my dear?"

"My rule?" said Rotha, growing grave again. "I think, Mrs. Mowbray, I want to do what is right."

"There is a further question. Do you want to do what I think right, or what you think right, or – what God thinks right?"

"I want to do that," said Rotha, with her heart beating very disagreeably. "I want to do what God thinks right."

"Then I advise you, my dear, to ask him."

"Ask him what, madame?"

"Ask what you ought to do in the circumstances. I confess I am not ready with the answer. My first feeling is with you, that your aunt has no right to take such a step; but, my dear, it is sometimes our duty to suffer wrong. And you are under her care; she is the nearest relative you have; you must consider what is due to her in that connection. She stands to you in the place of your parents – "

"O no, ma'am!" Rotha exclaimed. "Never! Not the least bit."

"Not as entitled to affection, but as having a right to respect and observance. You cannot change that fact, my dear. Whether you love her or not, you owe her observance; and within certain limits, obedience. She stands in that place with regard to you."

"But my own mother gave me to Mr. Southwode."

"He could not take care of you properly; as he shewed that he was aware when he placed you under the protection of your aunt."

"She will never protect me," said Rotha. "She will do the other thing."

"Well, my dear, that does not change the circumstances," said Mrs.

Mowbray rising.

"Then you think" – said Rotha in great dismay – "you think I ought to pray, to know what I ought to do?"

"Yes. I know no better way. If you desire to do the will of the Lord, and not your own."

"But how shall I get the answer?"

"Look in the Bible for it. You will get it. And now, good night, my dear child! Don't sit up to-night to think about it; it is late. Start fresh to-morrow. You have a good time for that sort of study, now in the holidays."

She gave a kind embrace to Rotha; and the girl went to bed soothed and comforted. True, her blood boiled when she thought of her stockings; but she tried not to think of them, and soon was beyond thinking of anything.

The next day was filled with a white snow storm; with flurries of wind and thick, driving atoms of frost, that chased everybody out of the streets who was brought thither by anything short of stern business. A lovely day to make the house and one's own room seem cosy and cheery. It was positive delight to hear the sharp crystals beat on the window panes and to see the swirling eddies and gusts of them as the wind carried them by, almost in mass. It made quiet and warmth and comfort feel so much the more delicious. Rotha had retreated to her room after breakfast and betaken herself to her appointed work.

Her Bible had a new look to her. It was now not simply a book Mrs. Mowbray had given her; that was half lost in the feeling that it was a book God had given her. As such, something very dear and reverent, precious and wonderful, and most sweet. Not any longer an awesome book of adverse law, with which she was at cross purposes; but a letter of love, containing the mind and will of One whom it was her utter pleasure to obey. The change was so great, Rotha lingered a little, in admiring contemplation of it; and then betook herself to the business in hand. How should she do? She thought the best way would be to ask earnestly for light on her duty; then to open the Bible and see what she could find. She prayed her prayer, honestly and earnestly, but she hoped, quite as earnestly, that it would not be her duty to let her aunt have her fine stockings.

And here lies the one great difficulty in the way of finding what the Bible really says on any given subject which concerns our action. Looking through a red veil, you do not get the right colour of blue; and looking through blue, you will easily turn gold into green. Or, to change the figure; if your ears are filled with the din of passion or the clamour of desire, the soft, fine voice of the Spirit in the word or in the heart is easily drowned and lost. So says F?nelon, and right justly – "O how rare a thing is it, to find a soul still enough to hear God speak!"

The other supposed difficulty, that the Bible does not speak directly of the subject about which you are inquiring, does not hold good. It may be true; nevertheless, as one or two notes, clearly heard, will give you the whole chord, even so it is with this heavenly music of the Lord's will. Rotha did not in the least know where to look for the decision she wanted; she thought the best thing therefore would be to go on with that same chapter of Matthew from which she had already got so much light. She had done what in her lay to be "reconciled to her brother," alias her aunt; she was all ready to go further. Would the next saying be as hard?

She read on, for a number of verses, without coming to anything that touched her present purpose. Then suddenly she started. What was this?

"Ye have heard that it hath been said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, That ye resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on the one cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man will sue thee at the law and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain." —

Rotha stared at the words first, as if they had risen out of the ground to confront her; and then put both hands to her face. For there was conflict again; her whole soul in a tumult of resistance and rebellion. Let her aunt do her this wrong! But there it stood written – "That ye resist not evil." "O why, thought Rotha, why may not evil be resisted? And people do resist it, and go to law, and do everything they can, to prevent being trampled upon? Must one let oneself be trampled upon? Why? Justice should be done; and this is not justice. I wish Mrs. Mowbray would come in, that I might ask her! I do not understand it."

At the moment, as if summoned by her wish, Mrs. Mowbray tapped at the door; she wanted to get something out of a closet in that room, and apologized for disturbing Rotha.

"You are not disturbing – O Mrs. Mowbray, are you very busy?" cried the girl.

"Always busy, my dear," said the lady pleasantly. "I am always busy. What is it?"

"Nothing – if you are too busy," said Rotha.

"I am never too busy when you want my help. Do you want help now?"

"O very much! I can_not_ understand things."

"Well, wait a moment, and I will come to you."

Rotha straightened herself up, taking hope; set a chair for Mrs. Mowbray, and received her with a face already lightened of part of its shadow of care.

"It is this, Mrs. Mowbray. I was looking, as you told me, to see what I ought to do; and look here, – I came to this: – 'That ye resist not evil.' Why? Is it not right to resist evil?"

"Read the passage; read the whole passage, to the end of the chapter."

Rotha read it; the verses she had been studying, and then, "Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour and hate thine enemy: but I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: " – Rotha read on to the end of the chapter.

"My dear," said Mrs. Mowbray then, "do you think you could love your enemies and pray for them, if you were busy fighting and resisting them?"

"I do not know," said Rotha. "Perhaps not. I do not think it would be easy any way."

"It is not easy. Do you not see that it would be simply impossible to do the two things at once? You must take the one course or the other; either do your best to repel force with force, resist, struggle, go to law, give people what they deserve; or, you must go with your hands full of forgiveness and your heart full of kindness, passing by offence and even suffering wrong, if perhaps you may conquer evil with good, and win people with love, and so save them from great loss. It is worth bearing a little loss oneself to do that."

"But is it right to let people do wrong things and not stop them? Isn't it right to go to law?"

"Sometimes, where the interests of others are at stake. But if it is only a little discomfort for you or me at the moment, I think the Bible says, Forgive, – let it pass, – and love and pray the people into better behaviour, if you can."

"I never can, aunt Serena," said Rotha low.

"My dear, you cannot tell."

"Then I ought to let her have my stockings?" Rotha said again after a pause.

"That is a question for you to judge of. But can you forgive and love her, and resist her at the same time? You could, if what she asks demanded a wrong action from you; but it is only a disagreeable one."

"Is it only because it is so disagreeable, that it seems to me so wrong?"

"I think it is wrong in your aunt; but that is not the question we have to deal with."

"And if one man strikes another man – do you think he ought to give him a chance to strike him again?"

"What do the words say?"

Rotha looked at the words, as if they ought to mean something different from what they said.

"I will tell you a true story," Mrs. Mowbray went on. "Something that really once happened; and then you can judge. It was in a large manufacturing establishment, somewhere out West. The master of the establishment – I think he was an Englishman? – had occasion to reprove one of his underlings for something; I don't know what; but the man got into a great rage and struck him a blow flat in the face. The master turned red, and turned pale; stood still a moment, and then offered the man the other side of his face for another blow. The man's fist was already clenched to strike, – but at seeing that, he wavered, his arm fell down, and he burst into tears. He was conquered. —

"What do you think?"

"He was a very extraordinary man!" said Rotha.

"Which?" said Mrs. Mowbray smiling.

"O I mean the master."

"But what do you think of that plan of dealing with an injury?"

"But does the Bible really mean that we should do so?"

"What does it say, my dear? It is always quite safe to conclude that God means what he says."

"People don't act as if they thought so."

"What then?"

"Mrs. Mowbray, I don't see how a man could."

"By the grace of God."

"I suppose, by that one could do anything," said Rotha thoughtfully.

Silence fell, which Mrs. Mowbray would not break. She watched the girl's face, which shewed thoughts working and some struggle going on. The struggle was so absorbing, that Rotha did not notice the silence, nor know how long it lasted.

"Then – you think – " she began, – "according to – that I ought – "

The words came slowly and with some inner protest. Mrs. Mowbray rose.

"It is no matter what I think. The decision must be made by yourself independently. Study it, and pray over it; and I pray you may decide rightly."

"But if you thought, Mrs. Mowbray – " Rotha began.

"It is not I whom you have to obey, my child. I think your case is not an easy one; it would not be for me; I believe it would rouse all the wickedness there is in me; but, as you said, by the grace of God one can do anything. I shall pray for you, my dear."

She left the room, though Rotha would fain have detained her. It was much easier to talk than to act; and now she was thrown back upon the necessity for action. She sat leaning over the Bible, looking at the words; uncompromising, simple, clear words, but so hard, so hard, to obey! "If he compel thee to go a mile, go with him twain." And then Rotha's will took such a hold of her stockings, that it seemed as if she never could let them go. It was injustice! it was oppression! it was extortion! it was more, something else that Rotha could not define. Yes, true, but – "if he take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also."

A long while Rotha worried over those words; and then stole into her mind another thought, coming with the subtlety and the peace of a sunbeam. – It is not for aunt Serena; it is for Christ; you are his servant, and these are his commands. – It is true! thought Rotha, with a sudden casting off of the burden that was upon her; I am his servant; and since this is his pleasure, why, it is mine. Aunt Serena may have the things; what does it signify? but I have a chance to please God in giving them up; and here I have been trying as hard as I could to fight off from doing it. A pretty sort of a Christian I am! But – and O what a joy came with the consciousness – I think the Lord is beginning to take away my stony heart.

The feeling of being indeed a servant of the Lord Christ seemed to transform things to Rotha's vision. And among other things, the words of the Bible, which were suddenly become very bright and very sweet to her. The question in hand being settled, and no fear of the words any longer possessing her, it occurred to her to take her "Treasury of Scripture Knowledge" and see what more there might be about this point of not resisting evil. She found first a word back in Leviticus —

"Thou shalt not avenge, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." – Lev. xix. 18.

It struck Rotha's conscience. This went even further than turning the cheek and resigning the cloak; (or she thought so) for it forbade her withal to harbour any grudge against the wrong doer. Not have a grudge against her aunt, after giving up the stockings to her? Yet Rotha saw and acknowledged presently that only so could the action be thoroughly sound and true; only so could there be no danger of nullifying it by some sudden subsequent action. But bear no grudge? Well, by the grace of God, perhaps. Yes, that could do everything.

She went on, meanwhile, and read some passages of David's life; telling how he refused to take advantage of opportunities to avenge himself upon Saul, who was seeking his life at the time. The sweet, noble, humble temper of the young soldier and captain, appeared very manifest and very beautiful; at the same time, Rotha thought she could easier have forgiven Saul, in David's place, than in her own she could forgive Mrs. Busby. Some other words about not avenging oneself she passed over; that was not the point with her; and then she came to a word in Romans, —