Armstrong looked at Holden, with an expression like fear.

“Who is equal to these things?” said he.

“I knew a man once,” said the Enthusiast, thinking of the peril he had just escaped, and darkly shadowing forth its circumstances, “whom a ravening lion sought to destroy, and the heart of the man sunk within him, for, in view of the beast, he forgot that the Lord God omnipotent reigneth, but an angel whispered it in his ear, and strengthened him, and he defied the lion, and smote him, and killed the lion.  Thus doth the Lord continue to perform his marvellous works, for he is faithful and true, and his mercy endureth for ever to them that love him.”

Of course, Armstrong could have no correct idea of what Holden alluded to, nor did he inquire.  It was to him only another instance, added by his enthusiastic friend, to the long catalogue of those in the sacred record, for whom faith had triumphed over danger, and wrought deliverance.

“It is, indeed,” he said, “a mighty means to bring down the divine blessing.”

“As is the law of gravitation to the worlds,” said Holden, looking out upon the clear sky, filled with stars, “which is the constant force flowing from the living centre of all things, and retaining them in harmonious movement in their orbits; so is faith to the human soul.  When it is present all is peace, and harmony, and joy; when it is absent, a wild chaos, whirling in darkness and confusion, over which the Spirit hath never brooded like a dove.”

At this moment the door opened, and Miss Armstrong, attended by William Bernard, entered the room.  She advanced towards Holden, and gave him her hand, which he took into both of his, and looking fondly at her, said: 

“Dear child, thy mother’s image, the room is brighter for thy presence.”

“There, William,” said Faith, smiling, “a lady seldom receives so delicate a compliment.”

“Mr. Holden,” said Bernard, “belongs to the old school of politeness, of which Sir Charles Grandison is the model.  Modern degeneracy might strive in vain to compete with it.”

There was a slight, a very slight, an almost imperceptible tone of irony about the words, which did not escape the sensitive ear of Holden.  He turned towards Bernard, and fastened his large eyes upon him, in silence, awhile, before he said: 

“The secret of politeness is to be found in warmth and goodness of heart.  Flame blazes not up from ice.”  The words, the tone, the look, conveyed his estimate of the character of the young man, and was not without influence on one, at least, of his auditors.  “But,” continued he, “thy presence, Faith, is truly, to me, as light.  Deemest thou me capable of unmeaning compliments?”

“No,” answered Faith, suspecting the little feeling of resentment, and desirous to soothe it, “I do not.  Forgive my absurd observation.”

“And I hope,” said Bernard, in his most engaging manner, “that Mr. Holden is not offended at my classing him among those who for delicacy and refinement were never surpassed.”