wonder," he went on, in a lower voice, as though thinking aloud, "if this
strength of yours could inspire me to bear the worst pain there could be
for me,--I mean if I had to make you suffer in any way?"

Helen looked down at him, surprised, not quite understanding.

"Suppose," he said,--"of course one can suppose anything,--that for your
best good I had to make you suffer: could I, do you think?"

"I hope so," she answered gravely; "I hope I should give you strength to
do it."

They fell again into their contented silence, watching the firelight, and
thinking tenderly each of the other. But at last Helen roused herself
from her reverie with a long, pleasant sigh of entire peace and comfort.

"John, do you know, I have reached a conclusion? I'm not going to
prayer-meeting any more."

John started. "Why, Helen!" he said, a thrill of pain in his voice.

But Helen was not at all troubled. "No, dear. Feeling deeply as I do
about certain things, it is worse than useless for me to go and hear
Elder Dean or old Mr. Smith; they either annoy me or amuse me, and I
don't know which is worse. I have heard Mr. Smith thank the Lord that we
are not among the pale and sheeted nations of the dead, ever since I came
to Lockhaven. And Elder Dean's pictures of the eternal torments of the
damned, 'souls wreathing in sulphurous flames' (those were his words
to-night, John!), and then praising God for his justice (his justice!)
right afterwards,--I cannot stand it, dear. I do not believe in hell,