“Emelie,” he said, his eyes lingering upon the scene before them, “that is a question that I have often asked myself, especially during the last two years that I spent in those hospitals abroad, and witnessed the wretchedness they contained.  And I suppose everybody has been asking it over and over for ages gone by.  We have been taught that sin is the root of it all,” he went on, musingly; “that sin brought sickness and death.  Then, as you say, if God is supreme, why doesn’t He abolish the sin, or at least show humanity how to conquer it in a practical way, to overcome or lessen the results of sin?  But no!  The same tragedy is repeated with every generation, and seems likely to go on for ages to come.”

“Sin!  What sin could an innocent child like Dorrie be guilty of, to bring upon her the curse of torture that she has endured for the last eight years?” cried Mrs. Seabrook, a note of intolerant anguish in her tones.  “I know you will say theology teaches that it is the heredity sin of our first parents; but, Phillip, that is not fair nor just—­it is not logical reasoning.  I believe I am beginning to be very skeptical, for that argument hasn’t a true ring to it.  What human father or mother would torture their offspring simply because an ancestor, many generations ago, had committed a crime, however heinous?  Oh, sometimes I am almost on the verge of declaring there is no God.  That would bring chaos, I know,” she added, with a deprecatory smile, as she saw her brother’s brow contract; “but it really does seem as if the pros and cons are disproportionate, the cons far outnumbering the pros, as far as poor humanity is concerned.”

“Emelie, you need change of scene; you are becoming morbid,” said Phillip Stanley, looking with fond anxiety into the somber eyes upraised to his.

“Change of scene would not remove the sword that hangs over me, for you know that where I go Dorrie must also go.  Oh!  Phillip, do you believe that anything will ever permanently relieve that child of pain?” Mrs. Seabrook cried, a sob escaping her quivering lips.  “I don’t expect she is ever going to be straight, like other girls.  I only ask that she may be freed from suffering.  Have you any real faith in that proposed operation, or even that—­that she will live through it?  You have been trying to ‘build her up,’ but she appears to be running down instead.”

“I know, dear, her case does seem to be very trying, although I see no especial cause for anxiety.  I hope when the season is more advanced and you go to the mountains she will improve more rapidly.  But how would you like to change the treatment?” And Dr. Stanley bent a searching look upon the troubled face beside him.

“Have some one else?”

“Yes; try another specialist.”

“No, Philip; we have tried everything—­every school, and countless specialists, for eight years,” said Mrs. Seabrook, wearily.  “I have more confidence in you than in anyone else, for I know that you are putting your whole heart into the case, and yet—­”