"I do not especially wish for it,"
Philippa said, very low.

For a moment John Fenn was silent
with horror. "That one so young
should be so hardened!" he thought;
aloud, he bade her remember hell fire.
He spoke with that sad and simple
acceptance of the fact with which, even
less than fifty years ago, men humbled
themselves before the mystery which
they had themselves created, of divine
injustice. She must know, he said,
his voice trembling with sincerity,
that those who slighted the offers of
grace were cast into outer darkness?

Philly said, softly, "Maybe."

"'Maybe?' Alas, it is, certainly!
Oh, why, WHY do you absent yourself
from the house of God?" he said,
holding out entreating hands. Philippa
made no reply. "Let us pray!"
said the young man; and they knelt
down side by side in the shadowy
parlor. John Fenn lifted his harsh,
melancholy face, gazing upward
passionately, while he wrestled for her
salvation; Philly, looking downward,