An Unwilling Guest (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill
Читать онлайн книгу.
muffled voice that tried to sound natural answered from upstairs, "I can't come just now, Maurice. Don't wait for me." The while she frantically bathed her red eyes and swollen cheeks and scanned them hopelessly in the glass, her heart wrung with desire to go, and dislike of part of the company she should be in.
It may be that Maurice did not have his usual quick perceptions about him, or his mind was filled with another subject, for contrary to his custom he did not urge her and insist upon waiting, but turned to Miss Rutherford with an eagerness which would have made his sister's heart still heavier, had she been there to see.
She heard the steps go down the walk, and peeped out from the sheltering curtain to watch her brother and guest go slowly down the walk and out the gate talking and laughing together as if they did not miss her, and her much-tried soul threw itself into another abandonment of weeping, not caring now for the red eyes which would have plenty of time, she felt sure, to regain their wonted look ere they were called to meet a scrutinizing gaze again.
Evelyn Rutherford, as she walked down the pleasant shaded street with the handsome, well-built young man by her side, wondered at the beauty of the place and that she had not noticed it when she arrived. There were spacious grounds and houses comfortable and pretentious. There must be some life worth living, even in this place. Did all these homes know a life such as the Greys lived? What was it made the difference? She meant to find out. It was interesting, anyway, and she began to be glad she had come.
And now Maurice Grey had his opportunity, long coveted, at last He was alone with her in a quiet, pleasant place with a reasonably long walk before him, and the one for whom he thought he had a message seemed ready to listen to anything he had to say. And yet he found it was not so easy after all. How was he to begin? He had thought much about it and planned the way he should say it many times, but somehow, with her beautiful eyes upon him and her bewitching laughter in his ears, none of those solemn sentences seemed to fit. He kept thinking back to the strange surroundings of their last meeting and feeling a sort of kinship of soul with her, and yet his longing for her salvation was just as great. He must not wait. He must not waste this opportunity. Already a part of the distance to the office had been traveled. Who knew how soon something would occur to break in upon the opportunity and it would be gone forever? Was he to waste this one also? With sudden eagerness he broke off in a sentence about some mutual friends they were speaking of and said:
"Miss Rutherford, pardon me for interrupting this line of thought, but my heart is so full of something I want to say to you, that I do not feel I can wait any longer."
Evelyn turned wondering eyes upon him. She was not without experience with young men. Not a few had told her of their undying affection, and asked for hers in return. These opening words sounded almost like some of theirs. Could it be that she was to add him to the list of men whom she rather despised in her heart for pledging their life and being ready to give their all to a pretty face without knowing much about the heart that was behind it? She had not time to reason this out. The idea merely flashed into being and flashed out again as it was quickly followed by the certainty that there was something of a vastly different nature to be spoken of, with a consciousness of satisfaction that this man was different from those others.
"I have blamed myself and have suffered for a whole year," went on her companion, "that I did not speak before, and have longed and hardly hoped for this opportunity."
“Evelyn turned wondering eyes upon him.”
In wondering silence Evelyn walked by his side. All sorts of possibilities went through her brain, none of which seemed adequate for the intensity of his language. She began to think that after all it must be a proposal and a sense of pleasure filled her at the thought. Then her pride rose in arms as she realized once more that his face did not look as if he were going to ask for her hand in marriage. She must not be blamed for making this the central thought of her life. It had been the only end to be attained, set forth to her from her babyhood. Even her father had unconsciously fostered it Her nurses and teachers had trained her for the time when she would be married; her friends and associates talked of nothing else than their conquests. Naturally it seemed to her a thing worth boasting that she had won the love of many men. She was yet to learn that the love of one true man is worth a life's devotion, and the love of the hundred who fling their hearts about to the highest bidder or the prettiest face, and then furbish them up again for the next trial as good as new, is not worth a thought
The young man had paused and Evelyn's eyes were lifted to meet such a hungering, tender gaze that she dropped them immediately. It was a different look from any she had ever met before. What did it mean? She had never yet met one in whose eyes blazed a passion for souls, that look that is the nearest reflection of His likeness earth can give. She did not understand it and it choked her.
It was not at all what he had planned to say. The Spirit seemed to guide his low-spoken, impassioned words:
"I have a confession to make to you, and I am humiliated more than I can tell you at my shortcomings. A year ago I spent nearly three hours In your company. I talked of my family, my friends, my books, and my best life, but so far as I can remember I breathed no word of my best and dearest friend."
The listener almost halted. Had he then brought her out here to tell her he was engaged? And for what? Did he fear she would expect his attention? Had she shown a particular delight in his society? The ready scorn mounted to her face, but melted as his words went on.
"It may seem strange to you, Miss Rutherford, that I love Jesus Christ better than my life, and have consecrated myself to his service. But I do, and I want you to know that he is a dear friend, and that his service is my highest joy. It seems incredible that feeling as I do I should allow myself to be in the company of anyone for three hours without hinting anything that would lead that one to suppose that I knew Jesus Christ, and I can only say that I am ashamed and humiliated, and have resolved in future to witness for my Master wherever I may have opportunity."
If the young man by her side had suddenly burst out in an eloquent tone in the Choctaw language, or in Sanskrit, or some other equally unknown tongue, Miss Rutherford would not have been surprised. A wild thought that he might be losing his mind flitted past her, but a look into the calm, steady eyes watching her so earnestly put that to flight. She looked down once more. There seemed to be nothing for her to say and she felt that he was not done.
"I am going to make a clean breast of it and tell you the whole story in as few words as possible. That night after I met you at the old rum it all came over me that I had been with you so long and might never see you again, and yet I had not even found out if you loved my Saviour. We had compared notes about our tastes in books and many other things. We seemed in harmony on many questions. It grieved me more and more as I thought of it that I had not found out if you were planning to spend eternity in heaven, and that I had said no word to urge you to in case you were not thinking of it. And so I made bold to pray for you. I hope you will not feel it was presumption. And as I prayed I grew to long so for you to love Christ that sometimes I felt I must try to do something about it, though there seemed nothing I could do but go on praying. And so I have prayed for you every day since we last met," He paused and looked down at the silent girl beside him.
"Are you angry with me, Miss Rutherford, for presuming to take such an interest in your welfare?" There was a pleading in his tone which compelled her to answer, though all the haughtiness was gone from her voice and it was quite unsteady.
"No, I am not angry," she said softly.
"And you will believe that my Saviour was and is more to me than my very life, in spite of the fact that I have done nothing to prove it to you?" "
"I have known from the beginning that you were different from everyone else I ever met," answered Evelyn. "But I did not understand what made it—and—I do not think I understand now."
"And will you let me try to tell you? May I have the joy of bringing to you that great, great love that Jesus has for you?"
"And so 'twas a love story after all," mused Evelyn, and one in which her experience stood