But now he began to see that something must have happened to the original maid of honor, and that this girl had been substituted.

Wainwright! Now what would that mean? Wealth, honor, sophistication, all that made up a different world from his, and no guarantee whatever about her being a Christian! His heart began to sink.

And he, what had he done? Rushed ahead and committed himself without so much as an upward glance to see what had been his Lord’s will in the matter! He had been so sure that she was all right. Her face had been so wonderful, her whole manner so lovely, so in keeping with what a servant of the Lord should rightly be, that it had never entered his mind to question, to hesitate. And now here she was a Wainright, and he knew what the Wainwright tradition would be. He had come close enough to Jeffrey Wainwright before he had been born again, and closer still afterward, to know that the family was utterly worldly. Jeff had mentioned no exception in his family, and he most certainly would have done so if there were one. They had had many a heart-to-heart talk about what Jeff’s new life was to be after he took the Lord for his Savior and Master. Jeff had known that he would meet opposition on every hand. He had said that his family, though nominally connected with church life, had no understanding whatever of the truth of the Gospel, nor of true Christian life. They had only a feeling that it was the respectable thing to do to belong to a church and that it might perhaps pave the steps to heaven by and by. Oh, dear God, could she be like that? And he, pledged to give his life to the service of Christ! There was no turning back for him. There was no possibility of compromise.

Into his mind surged verse after verse of scripture. “Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers!” “Can two walk together except they be agreed?” If his earthly love and his heavenly service did not agree, his love would have to go. There was no question about that. His Lord came first. He was glad that before he knew who she was he had made that plain in his letter. But oh, what pain this might bring! Certain pain to himself. Would it also perhaps bring pain to her, to whom his soul was bound?

John buried his face in the pillow beside him and began to talk to God, letting God search his heart, owning his own impetuous fault, asking for guidance and strength.

Gradually a number of things became plain as he prayed. For one thing, he realized that a Wainwright was a very different proposition from a quiet, plain, village girl who had been a friend of Camilla’s. He knew that Camilla had worked for her living. Likely her friends were of her status socially. A Wainwright would expect larger things in the way of wealth and position. A Wainwright would laugh at his presumption. He writhed as he thought of these things, as he remembered the mocking light in her eyes sometimes, the twinkle of fun at the corner of her mouth. Could it be that she was not what she seemed to be?

He remembered her lips on his, remembered her hand nestling in his. Was she only playing with him? Did she practice this sort of thing? No! His soul recoiled from the thought. He had given her his love, whether right or wrong, impetuous or wise, it was done, and he must trust her until she had been proven false. That was the first compulsion of such love as his. And yet it must be in obedience to his Lord, or it could never be blessed.

“Lord, Thou canst make her a child of God. Thou canst send thy Holy Spirit to draw her to Thee if she is not already Thine. I do not deserve that Thou shouldst do this for me, but I ask it in the name of the Lord Jesus, for Thy glory, if it be Thy will.