Part 3 (1/2)
”Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.”
Renewed a.s.surance came with the words.
”I believe it,” she said to herself. ”I have been very false, but He is true. He says the truth. I believe it.”
The thought of the choir scarcely entered her mind now in her new-found joy. The question, to sing or not to sing, had s.h.i.+fted to the deeper one of relations.h.i.+p to G.o.d, and the peace that came with its settlement overshadowed everything else. She went down to breakfast with a light heart and very cheerful countenance. Hubert looked at her in surprise from under gloomy brows. His own had been a restless night.
”Has your headache gone, dear?” asked her mother solicitously.
”Oh, long ago, Mother,” said Winifred. She wanted to tell her mother the better news than of a headache gone, but did not know how to begin.
They talked of ordinary things until breakfast was nearly over. Then Mr. Gray said:
”Mr. Mercer was sorry to miss you from the choir last night, Winnie, and hoped you were not going to be ill.”
”Thank you, Father. Mr. Mercer is always very kind.”
”He hopes you will surely be at the rehearsal Friday night, as he expects to take up some specially fine music.”
Winifred's heart heat violently as she summoned courage to say:
”I do not think I shall sing in the choir any more, Father.”
”Why--what, Winnie? What's that you are saying? You not sing in the choir any more?”
”What are you saying, Winifred,” added Mrs. Gray.
Winifred nerved herself for the statement. It might as well he said now as ever, while they were all together.
”Yes, Father,” she said, ”I do not think I can sing in the choir any longer. I saw very clearly yesterday that I had never been a true wors.h.i.+per. I have never meant the words that I sang. I have scarcely thought about G.o.d while I sang words about Him or addressed to Him.
Many of them I could not say honestly. It has all been for effect, and to--to please you all. So I--I concluded--I--couldn't go on any longer.”
It had been a very difficult speech, and Winifred's voice sank at the end.
Mr. Gray looked very grave.
”You surprise me, Winnie,” he said. ”You surprise me very much. You should be conscientious, surely, but you will let me say I think you are taking the matter too seriously,”
Silent Hubert shot a reproachful glance at his father. In his estimation here was a case of downright honesty that called for applause, not repression.
”I think your father is right, Winifred,” said Mrs. Gray faintly, and then she added, rather illogically, ”but I do not understand just what you mean.”
”Can I take the truth too seriously, Father?” asked Winifred, still speaking with an effort. It was an ingenuous question, but Robert Gray found it hard to answer.
”No,” he said, after a moment's hesitation, ”not truth itself, but we may get wrong ideas of it. But, Winnie,” he added, with real sorrow in his voice, ”I hope you do not mean to tell us that you will not hereafter try to wors.h.i.+p G.o.d, since the past has been so unsatisfactory to you?”
”Oh, no, Father,” said Winifred quickly, with rising courage as her experience of the night before came vividly to her. ”I have more to tell. I was very unhappy about it all last night, and--I prayed--she blushed, for it was new to speak of such things--I prayed, and it came to me that there was a way to come to G.o.d just as I was, and He would make me a true wors.h.i.+per; and I came.”
Winifred's embarra.s.sment could not quite cover her joy as she made her confession. The father looked relieved.
”I am thankful,--very thankful, Winnie,” he said. ”You did n.o.bly.