wicked shame when babies die, and all these millions of poor boys. I
would rather think there's no God than a helpless or a wicked God--"

Her father had suddenly thrown up his hands to his ears. She moved
closer, and put her arm round him.

"Dad dear, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Pierson pressed her face down to his shoulder; and said in a dull voice:

"What do you think would have happened to me, Gracie, if I had lost
belief when your mother died? I have never lost belief. Pray God I never
shall!"

Gratian murmured:

"George would not wish me to pretend I believe--he would want me to be
honest. If I'm not honest, I shan't deserve that he should live. I don't
believe, and I can't pray."

"My darling, you're overtired."

"No, Dad." She raised her head from his shoulder and, clasping her
hands round her knees, looked straight before her. "We can only help
ourselves; and I can only bear it if I rebel."

Pierson sat with trembling lips, feeling that nothing he could say would
touch her just then. The sick man's face was hardly visible now in the
twilight, and Gratian went over to his bed. She stood looking down at
him a long time.