“No, I do not ‘believe’ in it, and yet I know that strange, even marvelous, things are done in its name,” Phillip Stanley replied.  “Has Will never told you that I suggested we try it before having Dorrie submit to an operation?” he added, after a moment of thought.

“No, he has never mentioned the subject to me.”

“Well, I did,” and then the young man proceeded to relate the incident that had occurred on the Ivernia during his return passage and his subsequent conversation with his brother-in-law.

“While I have no faith in it as a ‘demonstrable science,’” he continued, “and while there is much that, to me, seems absurdly inconsistent in what they teach, I am not so egotistical and obstinate as to utterly repudiate, with a supercilious wave of the hand, any method of healing that could do what I know was done for that suffering child last fall.  And, my dear sister, I am sure I do not need to tell you that I would be willing to yield everything—­go to any legitimate length to save our Dorrie from a trying ordeal, which, after all, might not bring the result we hope for.  It is a question that remains to be proved, you know,” he concluded, gently.

“Do not think for a moment,” he presently resumed, “that I believe Christian Science could cure her; at the same time I would not object to giving it a trial—­making a test—­to see if it would relieve her present suffering.”

“Why not test it upon yourself, Phil?” his sister abruptly demanded.

The man started, then flushed.

“You refer to my imperfect sight?”

“Yes, of course; you need it for nothing else.”

“Pshaw!  Emelie; there is nothing that can mend a dislocated optic nerve,” returned the physician, with an impatient shrug.

They walked on some distance farther, both intent upon the subject which they had been discussing.

“Well, Phillip, I am going to ask Will to try what it will do for Dorothy,” Mrs. Seabrook at length asserted, in a resolute tone.  “Of course, if it is only mental treatment, it cannot do the child any harm, even if it does her no good.”

“I hope you may succeed, dear, in winning his consent,” her brother returned.  “He was rather short with me about it, and I could see that, for some reason, he was quite stirred up over the subject.”

“I think it would be unreasonable to refuse to make a trial of it, after we have spent years fruitlessly testing other things,” was the somewhat sharp reply.  Then she added, as she turned her face towards home:  “I think I will have to go back now, Phil.  I have been out nearly an hour, and I must not impose upon Miss Minturn.  This walk and talk have done me good, though.  I feel both cheered and refreshed.”

They walked briskly back to the seminary, chatting socially on various topics, and Dr. Stanley was glad to see a healthful glow upon his companion’s cheeks and a brighter look in her eyes by the time they entered the building.