Moved by a sudden impulse, and not giving herself time to shrink from the determination, she bent forward a little and addressed Gracie: "Read that, Gracie. I have not obeyed its direction to-day; have you? Do you think you have helped me to bear _my_ burdens?" Would Gracie answer her at all? Would her answer be cold and haughty; as nearly rude as she had dared to make it? Marion felt her heart throb while she waited. And she _had_ to wait, for Gracie was utterly silent. At last her teacher stole a glance at her. The great beautiful eyes were lifted to her face. The flash was passing out of them. In its place there was a puzzled, wondering, questioning look. And, when at last she spoke, her voice was timid, as if she were half frightened at her own words, and yet eager as one who must know: "Miss Wilbur, you don't mean--oh, _do_ you mean that _you_ want to fulfill the law of Christ; that you own him?" "That I own him and love him," Marion said, her cheeks glowing now as Gracie's did, "and that I want above all things, to fulfill his law, and yet that I have miserably failed, even this first day." Among Marion's sad thoughts that day had been: "There is no one to know, or to care, whether I am different or not. If I could only _tell_ some one--some Christian who would be glad--but who is there to tell? Prof. Easton is a Christian, but he doesn't care enough about the Lord Jesus to rebuke those who profane his name; he has let me do it in his presence, and smiled at my wit. And these girls" (and here Marion's lip had curled), "they don't know what they mean by their professions." She was unprepared for what followed. Gracie Dennis, graceful, queenly in her dignity, and haughty, even in her mirth, said, suddenly, in a voice which quivered with gladness: "Oh, I am so glad; _so_ glad! Oh, Miss Wilbur, I don't know how to be thankful enough!" And then she raised her head suddenly, and her glowing lips just touched Marion's cheek. It was so unusual for Marion to be kissed. Her friends at Chautauqua had been those who rarely indulged in that sort of caress--never, at least, with her. And, while, as I told you, many of them liked, and all of them respected her, it was yet an unheard of thing for the scholars to caress Miss Wilbur. And then, too, Gracie Dennis was by no means lavish of her kisses. This made the token seem so much more. It felt almost like a benediction. Gracie's next words were humbling to her: "Miss Wilbur, will you forgive me? I didn't mean to annoy you. I don't know what has been the matter with me." But, long before this, the last laggard had finished her line, and was staring in undisguised astonishment at the scene enacted on the platform. Marion rallied her excited thoughts. "Dear child," she said, "we have each something to forgive. I think I have been too severe with you. We will try to help each other to-morrow."