in the human consciousness if not in the world of matter.  You need not pretend to understand how God can be one in essence and three in person—­I grant you that is only a reversion to polytheism and is so regarded by the best Biblical scholars—­but never surrender your belief in the atoning blood of the Son whom He sent a ransom for many—­at least as a spiritual fact.  I myself have dismissed the Trinity as one of those mysteries to be adoringly believed on earth and comprehended only in heaven—­but that God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son—­Child, do you think I could look forward without fear to facing God, if I did not believe that the blood of his only begotten Son had washed from my soul that guilt of the sin I committed in Adam?  Cling to these simple essentials, and otherwise broaden even into the higher unbelief, if you like—­”

“But, Aunt Bell, it isn’t that!  I never trouble about those things—­though you have divined truly that I have doubted them lately—­but the doubts don’t distress me.  Actually, Aunt Bell, for a woman to lose faith in her God seems a small matter beside losing faith in her husband.  You can doubt and reason and speculate and argue about the first—­it’s fashionable—­people rather respect unbelievers nowadays—­but Oh, Aunt Bell, how the other hurts!”

“But, my child—­my preposterous child!  How can you have lost faith in that husband of yours?  What nonsense!  Do you mean you have taken seriously those harmless jesting little sallies of his about the snares and pitfalls of a clergyman’s life, or his tales of how this or that silly woman has allowed him to detect in her that pure reverence which most women do feel for a clergyman, whether he’s handsome or not?  Take Mrs. Wyeth, for example—­”

“Oh, Aunt Bell—­no, no—­how can you think—­”

“I admit Allan is the least bit—­er—­redundant of those anecdotes—­perhaps just the least bit insistent about the snares and pitfalls that beset an attractive man in his position.  But really, my dear—­I know men—­and you need never feel a twinge of jealousy.  For one thing, Allan would be held in bounds by fear of the world, even if his love for you were inadequate to hold him.”

“It’s no use trying to make you understand, Aunt Bell—­you can’t!”

Whereupon Aunt Bell neglected her former device of pretending that she did, indeed, understand, and bluntly asked: 

“Well, what is it, child?”

“Nothing, nothing, nothing, Aunt Bell—­it’s only what he is.”

“What he is?  A handsome, agreeable, healthy, good-tempered, loyal, upright, irreproachable—­”

“Aunt Bell, he’s killing me.  I seem to want to laugh when I tell you, because it’s so funny that he should have the power to—­but I tell you he’s killing out all the good in me—­a little bit every day.  I can’t even want to be good.  Oh, how stupid to think you could see—­that any one could see!  Sometimes I do forget and laugh all at once.  It’s as grotesque and unreal as an imaginary monster I used to be afraid of—­then I’m sick, for I remember we are bound together by the laws of God and man.  Of course, you can’t see, Aunt Bell—­the fire hasn’t eaten through yet—­but I tell you it’s burning inside day and night.”