grave, rather than offended, dignity.

"She is entirely sweet," he said to himself; "she will never answer me
in anger." Then he went on aloud, "And I am not polite; I am ill-trained
and ill-bred. Well, listen, Susannah. Whatever my mother may or may not
tell you about my peculiar opinions, whatever _I_ choose to believe or
to do, remember this, that I tell you that _you have_ a soul to be
eternally lost or saved, and it behoves you to walk carefully and
concern yourself about your salvation." There was a vibration of intense
warning in his voice. He was thinking of the life that might be so noble
if will and reason sided with God, and of the snares that the world lays
for beauty, and the light way in which beauty might walk into them;
and, as with all dreamy minds, he was too absorbed in his thought to
know how little it shone through the veil in which he wrapped it.

Susannah grew a shade paler. She had struggled in a blind child-fashion
to maintain a religion that would embrace her manifold life, but now it
appeared that, after all, Ephraim endorsed the general view; his refusal
to comply openly with it came of wilfulness, not unbelief. The
stronghold of her peace was gone. "My papa never spoke to me about
religion in that way, but I don't think he believed that."

Ephraim thought of the weak and reckless young father, of the careless
life broken suddenly by death.

"He has learned the truth now," he said shortly.

After a pause, in which she did not speak, he betook himself to his own
rooms, leaving Susannah to the companionship of the lonely house, the
howling wind, the gathering night, and a new fear of a state eternal and