“You certainly will, dear mother,” said Faith, brightly, “but if you would only stop trying to understand!  If you would only accept it as a little child, and then trust to the Heavenly Father to lead you!”

“I will some day, Faith—­I am sure of it,” answered her mother.  “I shall be saved, not only through my own faith, but through that of my daughter.”

“Her trust is sublime,” said Mr. Watkins, gently.  “I shall never forget how she comforted my poor Mary.”

“She comforts every one,” said Mrs. Marvin, smiling, “I named her rightly—­don’t you think so, Mr. Watkins?”

“You did, indeed,” said the young man, tenderly.  “It will be a lucky man, indeed, who can say ‘My Faith,’ and by those words indicate your daughter, Mrs. Marvin.”

“Oh, don’t!” said Faith, laughing.  “You are mocking, Mr. Watkins.”

Like her mother, she, too, found it convenient to change the subject.

“And how about Mr. Forbes?  Have you heard anything of his plans?” she asked, eagerly.  “I have heard it rumored that he, too, was trying to follow his conscience.”

Mr. Watkins smiled as he answered her question.

“He is trying to do what many men have done before him.  He is trying to buy his conscience with the money he makes dishonestly, or, in other words, he is a sinner on week-days and a saint on Sundays.  Why, they tell me he has started in business for himself, and with what he can gouge from the just wages of his employees he pays pew rent and gives to the heathen.  It is the same old story—­hypocrisy and greed!  Drain the blood of the poor in order to build monuments to their ashes!”

Mr. Watkins spoke bitterly and with a tightening of the lips.

He was thinking of Miss Jennings as he finished his utterance.

After he had gone Mrs. Marvin spoke suddenly to Faith.

“Do you know, dear,” she said, simply, “I believe Mr. Watkins is learning to love you!  He is a fine young man.  Do you think you could care for him?”

“Oh, no, no, mother!  Don’t ever speak of such a thing!” cried Faith, as if the suggestion hurt her.

Mrs. Marvin looked at her keenly.  Her suspicions were being verified.

The next morning Faith was well enough to report for duty, and the very atmosphere of the store seemed changed as she entered.

Miss Fairbanks greeted her with honest cordiality.  There were tears in her eyes as she spoke to Faith of Maggie Brady.

“Poor girl,” she whispered; “she feels dreadful about her lot.  She wishes she had kept silent forever about being Jim’s wife and allowed him to free himself, which he could have done very easily.”

“But I thought she loved him,” said Faith, faintly.

“So she does,” was the answer; “but she knows it was wrong for her to marry as she did.  She says she knew he did not love her, and felt sure that he would never own her.”

“But he does now,” said Faith, with a questioning look at the buyer.