“I see,” nodded the young man, as she paused to impress her thought upon him.

“Well, then He told them that everybody who believed what He preached would be able to do the same things.  Don’t you remember He said—­’Teach them to observe’—­and observe means to practice—­ ‘all things whatsoever I have commanded you.’  Those were His very words.  Now don’t you think that meant to heal in His way instead of using drugs and all sorts of queer things that the Bible doesn’t say anything about?” and Dorothy bent an eager, inquiring look upon her uncle.

“Where do you find all that?” questioned Phillip Stanley, and thus evading a direct reply.

But what she had said had set him thinking of arguments along the same line which Mrs. Minturn had used, during some of their discussions on board the Ivernia.

Dorothy shot a roguish glance up at him.

“I guess you don’t know your Bible very well, do you, Uncle Phillip?” she said, laughing.  “But when you go home please read the last six verses of the last chapter of Mark, and then the last two verses of the last chapter of Matthew, and see for yourself if what Jesus said about healing the sick isn’t just as strong as what He said about preaching to sinners.”

“All right, I will; but, by Jove, Dorrie! what a profound little theologian you are getting to be!” laughingly returned the man as, with a caressing hand, he smoothed back the golden hair from her forehead.  “What makes you bother your brain with such perplexing questions?”

“I suppose one reason is because I’ve been sick so long and nobody does me any real good.  Oh!  I shouldn’t have said that to you, when you try so hard,” Dorrie interposed, flushing.  “But I like to talk about such things, and you are very good to talk with me.  Papa used to; but, lately, he doesn’t seem to like to.  You ought to hear Miss Minturn, though.”

“Miss Minturn!” repeated Phillip Stanley, with an inward start.

“Yes.  I don’t believe you know who she is.  She is a new student, and she is just lovely,” said Dorothy, with animation.

“Does she talk with you about these things?” inquired Dr. Stanley, and recalling what Katherine had told him regarding having been forbidden to advance her peculiar views while she was a student at Hilton.

“I never heard her say anything about what we have been talking of to-day,” Dorothy replied.  “I’m going to ask her, though, what she thinks, sometime.  But papa asked her some questions once in the Sunday class, and her ideas about God and the way people ought to live are beautiful.  She has been to see me several times, and she always brings me a lovely flower of some kind—­a rose or lily, and once the sweetest orchid; only one at a time, but always such a beauty.  I love to look at it when she is gone, and it almost seems as if she had left part of herself behind.”

“That is just like her dainty ladyship,” Phillip Stanley observed to himself, and Dorrie continued: