"Miss Lansing!" — I exclaimed, rousing up in bed and
confronting her. They all shouted again.
"Now we'll have it!" cried St. Clair. "Keep cool, Black-eyes;
let's hear — we'll have an exposition now. Theme, Christian
grace."
Ah, there rushed through my heart with her words a remembrance
of other words — a fluttering vision of something "gentle and
easy to be entreated" — "first pure, then peaceable" —
"gentleness, goodness, meekness." — But the grip of passion
held them all down or kept them all back. After St. Clair's
first burst, the girls were still and waited for what I would
say. I was facing Miss Lansing, who had taken her hand from my
shoulder.
"Are you not ashamed of yourself?" I said; and I remember I
thought how my mother would have spoken to them. "Miss
Lansing's good nature" — I went on slowly, — "Miss Macy's
kindness — Miss Bentley's independence — and Miss St. Clair's
good breeding!" —
"_And_ Miss Randolph's religion!" echoed the last-named, with a
quiet distinctness which went into my heart.
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