Read Online Because of Stephen by Grace Livingston Hill - Free Book Online
Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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said; but the two by the door could not.
"Mr . Byron," she said, and there was pain in her voice, "I cannot shake hands with you. You have insulted my best friend."
The red flashed up under the bronze in the young man's cheek, and he drew back as if struck.
He stammered and tried to find words.
It was nothing but a passing word, a flash, he said; Philip and he were as good friends as ever. He did not know, or he would not have spoken. He would apologize to Philip.
Margaret caught her breath. She had not expected to be misunderstood.
"I do not mean Mr. Earle," she answered quietly and stea dily; "he is but a new acquaint ance. I mean my best friend. I mean Jesus Christ, my Saviour . I heard you speak his name in a dreadful way, Mr. Byron."
She lifted her eyes to his now, and they were full of tears.
The man was dumb before her. What had been a flash of anger and embarrassment grew into shame, deep, overpowering. He had noth ing to say. He had never met a thing like this face to face before. It was not something he could point the barrel of his revolver at, nor could he grapple with it and overcome. It was shame, and he had never met real shame be fore.
The fire in Philip's eyes went out, and he turned half away, as if from something too holy to look upon . He had seen the tears in the girl’s eyes, and the real trouble in her voice. Into his own heart r ebuke had sent a shaft as it passed to meet this other man whose guilt was greater.
At last the careless lips, so deserted of all their gay, accustomed words, spoke.
"I did not know—"was all he could say, and he turned and stumbled out of the room, not looking back.
And Margaret, trembling now, with the tears blin ding her, took refuge in her room.
Chapter 6
The next few days were strenuous ones in the house of the unbidden guest. Philip and Stephen arose early and retired late, and did their regular work at odd times when they could get a chance, while they entered like two boys in to the plans of their young com mander.
They moved the little cattle-shed near to the house and floored it with some lumber that had been lying idle for some time. They took down the cook-stove, and set it up in the new kitchen, where it soon shone out resplen dent in a coat of black under the direction of Margaret and the wondering hand of the old woman.
A box of kitchen utensils which Margaret had conside red indispensable to her own ca reer as a housekeeper, and was now thankful she had not left behind, was unpacked, and soon there b egan to appear on the table won derful concoctions in the shape of waffles and gems and muffins, which made each meal the rival of the last one, and kept the two young men and the old woman in a continual state of amazement.
Into the midst of all this work came the first Sabbath of Margaret's new life.
A storm had burst in the night, and was carrying all before it, seeming to have made up its mind to stay all day; so there was nothing to do but stay in the house as much as possible.
At the breakfast-table, Stephen began to speak of the work they would do that day, and to say what a shame it was raining, as they could not w ork on a little room to accommo date the old woman, who had now to hobble home at night to her shanty a mile and a half away.
"You forget what day it is, Stephen," said Margaret, smiling. "You couldn't work if it didn't rain. It is Sunday, you know."
Stephen l ooked up in surprise. He had al most forgotten that Sunday was different from any other day, but he did not wish to confess this to his sister. He drew his brows, scowling, and answered, "O, bother, so it is!"
Then Philip scowled too, but for a different reason, and looked anxiously at the sky to see whether it was really to be a rainy Sunday. He grew suddenly thankful for the rain. But what would he do with Stephen all day?
They were compelled to do some work, after all, for the old woman did not hobble over at all that day, and no wonder: the rain came down in
"Mr . Byron," she said, and there was pain in her voice, "I cannot shake hands with you. You have insulted my best friend."
The red flashed up under the bronze in the young man's cheek, and he drew back as if struck.
He stammered and tried to find words.
It was nothing but a passing word, a flash, he said; Philip and he were as good friends as ever. He did not know, or he would not have spoken. He would apologize to Philip.
Margaret caught her breath. She had not expected to be misunderstood.
"I do not mean Mr. Earle," she answered quietly and stea dily; "he is but a new acquaint ance. I mean my best friend. I mean Jesus Christ, my Saviour . I heard you speak his name in a dreadful way, Mr. Byron."
She lifted her eyes to his now, and they were full of tears.
The man was dumb before her. What had been a flash of anger and embarrassment grew into shame, deep, overpowering. He had noth ing to say. He had never met a thing like this face to face before. It was not something he could point the barrel of his revolver at, nor could he grapple with it and overcome. It was shame, and he had never met real shame be fore.
The fire in Philip's eyes went out, and he turned half away, as if from something too holy to look upon . He had seen the tears in the girl’s eyes, and the real trouble in her voice. Into his own heart r ebuke had sent a shaft as it passed to meet this other man whose guilt was greater.
At last the careless lips, so deserted of all their gay, accustomed words, spoke.
"I did not know—"was all he could say, and he turned and stumbled out of the room, not looking back.
And Margaret, trembling now, with the tears blin ding her, took refuge in her room.
Chapter 6
The next few days were strenuous ones in the house of the unbidden guest. Philip and Stephen arose early and retired late, and did their regular work at odd times when they could get a chance, while they entered like two boys in to the plans of their young com mander.
They moved the little cattle-shed near to the house and floored it with some lumber that had been lying idle for some time. They took down the cook-stove, and set it up in the new kitchen, where it soon shone out resplen dent in a coat of black under the direction of Margaret and the wondering hand of the old woman.
A box of kitchen utensils which Margaret had conside red indispensable to her own ca reer as a housekeeper, and was now thankful she had not left behind, was unpacked, and soon there b egan to appear on the table won derful concoctions in the shape of waffles and gems and muffins, which made each meal the rival of the last one, and kept the two young men and the old woman in a continual state of amazement.
Into the midst of all this work came the first Sabbath of Margaret's new life.
A storm had burst in the night, and was carrying all before it, seeming to have made up its mind to stay all day; so there was nothing to do but stay in the house as much as possible.
At the breakfast-table, Stephen began to speak of the work they would do that day, and to say what a shame it was raining, as they could not w ork on a little room to accommo date the old woman, who had now to hobble home at night to her shanty a mile and a half away.
"You forget what day it is, Stephen," said Margaret, smiling. "You couldn't work if it didn't rain. It is Sunday, you know."
Stephen l ooked up in surprise. He had al most forgotten that Sunday was different from any other day, but he did not wish to confess this to his sister. He drew his brows, scowling, and answered, "O, bother, so it is!"
Then Philip scowled too, but for a different reason, and looked anxiously at the sky to see whether it was really to be a rainy Sunday. He grew suddenly thankful for the rain. But what would he do with Stephen all day?
They were compelled to do some work, after all, for the old woman did not hobble over at all that day, and no wonder: the rain came down in
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