“I pray every night and morning; but that is nothing—­everyone does it.  I know I thank God sincerely; I thank Him again and again and again.  Do you remember how, when I was a child, you used to be horrified because I prayed standing?  I often say little prayers standing now; I am always thanking Him for giving me you.  But all the time it is a bargain with Him.  So long as you are well I love Him, but if you were to die I would never pray again.  I have never said it in words until to-day, but He must know it, for it is behind all my prayers.  If He does not know, there cannot be a God.”

She was watching his face, half wofully, half stubbornly, as if, whatever might be the issue of those words, she had to say them.  She saw how pained he was.  To admit the possible non-existence of a God when you can so easily leave the subject alone was horrible to Tommy.

“I don’t doubt Him,” she continued.  “I have believed in Him ever since the time when I was such a lonely child that I did not know His name.  I shall always believe in Him so long as He does not take you from me.  But if He does, then I shall not believe in Him any more.  It may be wrong, but that is what I feel.

“It makes you care less for me!” she cried in anguish.

“No, no, dear.”

“I don’t think it makes God care less for me,” she said, very seriously.  “I think He is pleased that I don’t try to cheat Him.”

Somehow Tommy felt uncomfortable at that.

“There are people,” he said vaguely, like one who thought it best to mention no names, who would be afraid to challenge God in that way.”

“He would not be worth believing in,” she answered, “if He could be revengeful.  He is too strong, and too loving, and too pitiful for that.”  But she took hold of Tommy as if to protect him.  Had they been in physical danger, her first impulse would have been to get in front of him to protect him.  The noblest women probably always love in this way, and yet it is those who would hide behind them that men seem to love the best.

“I always feel—­oh, I never can help feeling,” she said, “that nothing could happen to you, that God Himself could not take you from me, while I had hold of you.”

“Grizel!”

“I mean only that He could not have the heart,” she said hastily.  “No, I don’t,” she had to add.  “I meant what you thought I meant.  That is why I feel it would be so sweet to be married, so that I could be close to you every moment, and then no harm could come to you.  I would keep such a grip of you, I should be such a part of you, that you could not die without my dying also.

“Oh, do you care less for me now?” she cried.  “I can’t see things as clearly as you do, dearest, darlingest.  I have not a beautiful nature like yours.  I am naturally rebellious.  I have to struggle even to be as good as I am.  There are evil things in my blood.  You remember how we found out that.  God knew it, too, and He is compassionate.  I think He makes many pitying allowances for me.  It is not wicked, is it, to think that?”