To please her husband Juana accompanied him once to the theatre, and spent one night whirling in the dance. Then this pagan girl's conscience asserted itself clearly and unmistakably. She was not thrown into a bewildering state of perplexity such as troubles young converts in our Christian land. She needed not to consult the authorities of any church, or inquire of wise theologians "what she must give up" if she became a disciple. Her heart in absolute self-abandon had turned to Christ, as naturally and gladly as the flower to the sun, and the way was not clearer for the dews and life-giving rays to reach the tiny blossom, than for his slightest wish or suggestion to reach and control his child. She knew, without settling it by a process of argument, that Christ and worldly pleasures are antagonistic, and that whoever merges heart and soul in the one must give up the other. To her surprise and delight she found, too, that the keen relish for scenes of revelry had left her. How could it be otherwise? Christ had come into her heart. By a law of natural philosophy, two bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time; so, by a law of divine philosophy, Christ and the world cannot occupy a soul at the same time; and every spiritually-minded Christian is acquainted with that law, either by sad or sweet experience. Paul Everett loved his young wife as well as he was capable of loving anything besides himself. Like many weak, tyrannical natures, he rejoiced in a sense of ownership concerning her, and in the hitherto complete submission of her will to his. What, then, was his astonishment and anger when she told him, as gently as she could, that her conscience would not allow her any more to attend balls and theaters, or engage in several other forms of amusement which used to delight her? What wonderful transformation was this? A wild, frolicsome girl, a doll, a plaything, suddenly discovering that she had a conscience, and asserting her right to rule her own soul, even daring to have a thought contrary from his! "What do you mean by such foolishness, Juana?" he demanded. What a heart of stone he had that it did not melt when the dark eyes, filled with tears, turned pleadingly up to his, and the stammering tongue in pretty, crooked words, said: "The Lord, Christ Jesus, he is my Master," and Juana's tongue lingered lovingly over the word—she had lately learned it in English, and it meant so much to her—"I fear, oh! very much, to not please Him; I must follow what He says to me here," and both small hands clasped themselves over her heart. Paul's answer was a torrent of invectives and reproaches, ending with—"I am your master! You are to obey me and none other." And then he stooped lower, close to her ear, and whispered words that he knew would be terrible to her: "If you do not, I will cast you off!"