"Now, girls, have I got news for you!"
The speaker was a showy-looking girl, dressed in the height of fashion. She was just entering a room where there were several young ladies.
"What is it, Julie?" cried one and then another.
"You'll never believe it! Linda Ashbrook has professed religion," was the half serious, half laughing reply.
"Linda Ashbrook!" The girls repeated the name more or less in surprise.
"Linda Ashbrook!" said the oldest girl, seriously. "Why, she was forever making sport of the subject."
"And such a fashionable girl! Why, she would hardly look at any one who was poorly dressed," remarked another.
"Her father an infidel too. What will he say?"
"I heard that he turned her out of the house," said Julie.
There was a long silence. It was abruptly broken by the youngest of the group: "Now we shall see if there is any reality in the religion that Christians talk about. I don't believe there is one single person in any branch of her family who is religious. She will have plenty to undergo. I wouldn't be in her place."
"Troubles? Pshaw! There's no such thing as persecution in these days. It would be a rare thing to see a martyr."
This was lightly spoken by Julie, who had been Linda's nearest friend, and who felt an unnatural bitterness springing up in her heart towards the other girl whose companionship she knew she could no longer enjoy as before. "But martyrs are rare in these days, even martyrs to religious persecution."
The girls made an early call on Linda. She received them with her accustomed ease and a sweeter smile than usual. She was pale; and though there was a quietness in her beautiful face, she appeared like one wearied a little with some struggle in which she was the sufferer. She did not speak directly of the new peace she had found, but her visitors could see clearly a change in dress, in manners, and even in countenance.
Linda was engaged to be married to George Philips, a thorough man of the world. George loved his wine, his parties, the race track, the theater, the convivial and free and easy club. Sunday was his day for pleasure, and many a time had Linda joined him on that day. He had a pleasing manner, a keen mind, and was welcomed and admired everywhere.
His brow darkened when he heard the news. What! The girl of his choice, the one who would be mistress of his home, now a Christian? Nonsense, he wouldn't believe it. It was a ridiculous hoax!
"What! The daughter of Henry Ashbrook, the freest of free-thinkers? Ba! It was a joke, nothing more."
He called upon her very soon after hearing the news. He coldly scanned her from head to foot; but how gently, how sweetly she met him! Her voice, pleasant before, was sweeter in its tones now. Winning grace was there, and settled peace. A happy smile dimpled her cheek. But there was something, a subtle something, that filled him with apprehension, because it was unlike her old self. What could it be?
Lightly, scoffingly, he referred to the report he had heard. For one moment her face paled, her lips refused to speak. This passed, and something like a flash of sunshine crossed her face. It lighted her eyes anew, it touched her cheek with soft crimson as she replied, "George, please don't treat it as a joke; for truly, thank God, I have become a Christian. Oh George!"—her clasped hands were laid upon one of his —"I have only just begun to live! If you knew—"
Impatiently he sprang to his feet, throwing her hand from him in his abrupt movement. He did not dare to trust his voice, for an oath was uppermost. He walked swiftly backward and forward for a moment, and then he came and stood before her. Angrily he exclaimed, "Do you mean to say that you will really cast your lot among these people, that for them you will give up all—all?"
"I will give up all for Christ."
The words were very soft and low and not spoken without reflection. But they angered him still more. "Linda, if these are your intentions, we must go different ways."
There was fury in his voice. This was cruel, a terrible test, for that young girl, as it were, had placed her soul in his keeping. Before a higher, purer love was born in her heart, she had almost worshipped George, and giving him up, even now, seemed unthinkable. Tears came to her eyes.
As he saw this his manner changed to entreaty. He placed before her all their hopes and plans. He lured her by every argument that could appeal to her womanly heart. The gentle spirit of the young Christian felt as if she must yield. But a scripture she had read strengthened her: "How can two walk together except they be agreed?" Help direct from the fountain of life sustained her in her choice.
Who had said, "All this will I give you, if you will fall down and worship me"? It was the enemy of souls and of Christ. There could be no compromise; it was "Christ or me." And standing there, with her newfound heavenly faith shining in her heart and lighting her pale features, she said, with a firmness worthy of the martyrs of old, "Christ."
Though his soul was filled with rage, never had she seemed so dear, so lovable to the young man. Her earnest, upward look, her attitude, so self-possessed, yet so modest, filled him with a strange admiring awe. But his hostility towards religion was so strong in his heart that it bore down all tenderness, all love. He parted from her for the first time coldly, and like a stranger.
The engagement was broken off. This was the first trial. Then came another, while yet her heart was heavy.
Linda Ashbrook's father had never been very loving towards her. He was proud of her. She was an ornament to his beautiful home. She gratified his vanity. But for her to break with the wealthy, brilliant young George Philips, was unthinkable! He called her into his study, and required a minute account of the whole-matter. He had heard rumors, he said—had seen a surprising and not an agreeable change in her; she had grown mopish, quiet—what was the cause?
What a testing for the poor girl, so newly converted! It was a great trial, with that stern, unbelieving face, full of hard lines, opposite, to stand and testify for Christ! But He who has promised was with her, and she told the story calmly, resolutely, kindly.
"And do you intend to be baptized?"
"Yes, sir!" A gleam of hope entered her heart. She did not expect his approval, but she couldn't think he might refuse to sanction this step.
"You know your Aunt Eunice has long wanted you to become an inmate of her home."
"Yes, sir," the gentle voice faltered.
"Well, you can go there now. Unless you give up this absurd religiousness and become reconciled to George Philips, I do not wish you to remain with me. Be as you were before and you shall have all luxury, all your heart desires. Follow this miserable notion, and I shall be your father only in name."
And still, though her heart was broken, she answered as before: "Christ."
She did forsake all for Him, but her grief for her loved ones broke both heart and health. The gentle, tender girl was unable to cope with such overwhelming sorrow. Swiftly she went down into the valley, but it was not dark to her. The presence of the Lord sustained and comforted her. As she neared the end of the way, George Philips heard that she was dying. His heart was again stirred by memories of her gentle dignity when, as opposed to him, she had chosen Christ. Could there be such power in Him? George longed to know. Hesitantly he visited the dying girl and implored her forgiveness.
Too late? No, not too late for his own salvation, for in that hour his eyes were opened to his own sinfulness and to the uselessness of his life. By her side he knelt and yielded his lonely heart to God.
Her father too proud infidel though he was, looked on his child with wonder and with awe. Such a dying scene is the privilege of but few to witness. She had given up all for Christ, and in her last hour the Spirit of God seemed to fill her. The sweet face filled with heavenly light testified to them of the power of Him who has triumphed over death, hell, and the grave, and is now seated at God's right hand in the glory. It was with reality that his own voice echoed hers as she whispered one word—the last—it was, "Christ."
"But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumbling block, and unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God." 1 Cor. 1:23, 2423But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness; 24But unto them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God. (1 Corinthians 1:23‑24).