“Yet if you took away our faith, what would there be to hinder us from being like my poor Janet?”

“Heaven forbid that I should take away any one’s honest faith; above all, yours or Essie’s.”

“Except by showing that you think it just good enough for us.”

“How can I help it, any more than I can help that Belforest was left to Elvira?  Wishes and belief are two different things.”

“Would you help it if you could?” she earnestly asked.”

He hesitated.  “I might wish to satisfy you, mother, and other good folks, but not to put myself in bondage to what has led blindfold to half the dastardly and cruel acts on this earth, beautiful dream though it be.”

“Ah, my boy, it is my shame and grief that it is not a beautiful reality to you.”

“You were too wise to bore us.  You have only fancied that since you fell in with the Evelyns.”

“Ah, if I had only bred you up in the same spirit as the Evelyns!”

“It would not have answered.  We are of different stuff.  And after all, Janet and I are your only black sheep.  Jock has his convictions in a strong, practical working order, as real to him as ever his drill and order-book were.  Good old fellow, he strikes me a good deal more than all Ogilvie’s discussions.”

“Mr. Ogilvie has talked to you?”

“He has done his part both as cleric and your devoted servant, mother, and, I confess, made the best of his case, as an able man heartily convinced can do.  Good night, mother.”

“One moment, Bobus, my dear; I want one promise from you, to your old Mother Carey.  Call it a superstition and a charm if you will, but promise.  Take this Greek Testament, keep it with you, and read a few verses every night.  Promise me.”

“Dear mother, I am ready to promise.  I have read those poems and letters several times in the original.”

“But you will do this for me, beginning again when you have finished?  Promise.”

“I will, mother, since it comforts you,” said Bobus, in a tone that she knew might be trusted.

The other little book, with the like request, in urgent and tender entreaty, was made up into a parcel to be forwarded as soon as Mr. Wakefield should learn Janet Hermann’s address.  It was all that the mother could do, except to pray that this living Sword of the Spirit might yet pierce its way to those closed hearts.

Nor was she quite happy about Barbara.  Hitherto the girl had seemed, as it were, one with Armine, and had been led by his precocious piety into similar habits and aspirations, which had been fostered by her intercourse with Sydney and the sharing with her of many a blissful and romantic dream.