“I agree with you,” exclaimed Mrs. Marvin, promptly.  “The principles of Christianity oppose success at every turn.  To be Christ-like one must always be poor, always weak and, consequently, always downtrodden.”

“Your daughter does not believe that,” said Miss Dean, smiling.

Faith was so in earnest when she answered that she stopped on the sidewalk and faced them.

“Is there any success greater than this,” she asked, eagerly, “to earn those precious words from the lips of our Saviour, ’Well done, thou good and faithful servant,’ and to receive at the end of life that joy everlasting that is promised to those who follow Him, even though they bear the cross of worldly failure?”

Miss Dean stared at the young girl in honest admiration.  While she questioned her reasoning, she almost envied her.  If a simple faith was so satisfying it was certainly worth having, but to natures like hers this simple faith was impossible.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Mr. Denton’s ultimatum.

When Mr. Denton left that scene of sorrow in which Faith Marvin had just played so sweet a role, he could not possibly have described his tumultuous feelings.  Not a night since that sad death in the cloak-room had he been able to sleep peacefully, and even by day his thoughts were sorely disturbed.  It was, as his son had said, as though the spirit of Miss Jennings was haunting him.

He was not a bad-hearted man by any means, but, like hundreds of others, he thought only of his own interests and those of his wife and son, who were very dear to him.  Out of his own station in life he rarely looked, and the question of equal rights never presented itself to him seriously.

Now, however, something had taken possession of him which he could not understand.  He was beginning to meditate upon the rights of others.

As he hurried home after those brief moments at the undertaker’s, he went over the scenes of the last few days, trying to determine the causes which led to his perturbation of spirit.

First and foremost in his mind was the conversation with the Government Inspector just before the death of Miss Jennings.  She had taken him seriously to task about the condition of the store, and her words had stung him; they were so earnest and truthful.  At the very moment of his entrance to the cloak-room he was mentally censuring himself for his almost criminal thoughtlessness for the consideration of others.

Then came the dying words and the glance of those death-glazed eyes.  He shuddered even now when he recalled them so vividly.

Since then the awakening of his conscience had come, he had seen himself exactly as he was, a traitor to himself, to humanity, and to his God, and the sight filled him with remorse.  He was shamed and repentant.

What to do next, was the question of his soul.  He could not undo the past, but, thank God, there was still a present and a future!