wouldn't trust anybody as was a Catholic. I don't think the religion
ought to be allowed.'

Here was evidently a subject which had power to draw Mary from her
wonted reticence. Her quiet eyes gleamed all at once with
indignation.

Ackroyd laughed with good-natured ridicule.

'Nay,' he said, 'the time's gone by for that kind of thing, Miss
Bower. You wouldn't have us begin religious persecution again?'

'I don't want to persecute anybody,' the girl answered; 'but I
wouldn't let them be misled by a bad and false religion.'

On any other subject Mary would have expressed her opinion with
diffidence; not on this.

'I don't want to be rude, Miss Mary,' Luke rejoined, 'but what right
have you to say that their religion's any worse or falser than your
own?'

'Everybody knows that it is--that cares about religion at all,'
Mary replied with coldness and, in the last words, a significant
severity.

'It's the faith, Mary, my dear,' interposed Mr. Boddy, 'the faith's
the great thing. I don't suppose as form matters so much.'

The girl gave the old man a brief, offended glance, and drew into