"Can't you believe what I say, Bart? I say that I will give up dancing
and selling beer, and sign the pledge, and dress plain, and go to
church. I say I will do it and Christa will do it; and you can teach us
all you've a mind to, day in and day out, and we'll learn if we can.
Isn't it far better to save Christa and me--two souls, than to hunt one
poor man to death? Don't you believe that I'll do what I promise? I'll
go right home now and give it to you in writing, if you like."

"I do believe you, Ann." He stopped to regain the steadiness of his
voice. He had had training in forcing his voice in the last few months,
for he hated to bear verbal testimony to his religious beliefs, and yet
he had taught himself to do it. He succeeded in speaking steadily now,
in the same strong voice in which he had learnt to pray at meetings. It
was not exactly his natural voice. It sounded sanctimonious and
ostentatious, but that was because he was forced to conceal that his
heart within him was quaking. "I do believe that you would do what you
say, Ann; but it isn't right to do evil that good may come."

He did not appeal to her pity; he did not try to tell her what it cost
him to refuse. If he could have made her understand that, she might have
been turned from her purpose. He realised only the awful weakness and
wickedness of his heart. He seemed to see those appetites which, up to a
few months before, had possessed him like demons, hovering near him in
the air, and he seemed to see God holding them back from him, but only
for so long as he resisted this temptation.

To her he said aloud: "I cannot do it, Ann. In God's strength I cannot
and will not do it."

Within his heart he seemed to be shouting aloud to Heaven: "My God, I