“Religion teaches, father, that our wills are sources of unhappiness only when opposed to the Divine will.”

“I knew you would agree with me.  And then think of the folly of it.  The resistance must be ineffectual.  That is a sweet song you sung, but it seems to me the theology of it is not altogether correct.  It celebrates only the love of God, and is, therefore, partial and one-sided.  He is also a consuming fire.”

“A consuming fire to destroy what is evil.”

“I hope it is so.  But do you know that I have been a good deal troubled lest there might be truth in the doctrine, that Necessity, an iron Necessity, you understand, might control God himself?”

“Why will you distress yourself with these strange speculations, father?  There are some things, it was intended, we should not know.”

“Why,” continued Armstrong, “it is an opinion that has been entertained for thousands of years, and by the wisest men.  The old philosophers believed in it, and I do not know how otherwise to explain the destiny of the elect and reprobate.  For you see, Faith, that if God could make all men happy, he would.  But he does not.”

“I think we ought not to engage our minds in such thoughts,” said Faith.  “They cannot make us wiser or better, or comfort us in affliction, or strengthen us for duty.”

“They are very interesting.  I have spent days thinking them over.  But if the subject is unpleasant we will choose another.  I think you look wonderfully like your mother to-night.  I almost seem to see her again.  It was very curious how Mr. Holden discovered your likeness to her.”

“I was quite startled,” said his daughter, glad to find her father’s mind directed to something else.  “I wonder if he could have seen my mother.”

He explained the way in which he found it out.  “Was it not ingenious?  No one else would have thought of it.  He has a very subtle intellect.”

“I was not quite satisfied,” said Faith.  “His explanation seemed far fetched, and intended for concealment.  I think he must have seen my mother.”

“If that is your opinion, I will inquire into it.  But I do not wish to speak of Holden.  You have been to me, Faith, a source of great happiness, and when you are gone, I know I shall not live long.”

“We shall live many happy years yet, dear father, and when our time comes to depart, we will thank God for the happiness we have enjoyed, and look forward to greater.”

“Your time is at the door, my daughter,” said Armstrong, solemnly.

“I know that at any moment I may be called, but that does not affect my happiness, or diminish my confidence, that all is well according to the counsel of His will.”

“I see thee in the shining raiment of the blessed!  I behold thee in the celestial city!” exclaimed Armstrong.

It was later than usual when the father and daughter separated that night.  It seemed as if he were unwilling to allow her to depart, detaining her by caresses when she made suggestions of the lateness of the hour, and assenting only when the clock warned that midnight was passed.  Then it was he said: