“I think you’ll be disappointed in him, Doctor;—­I think he’ll be angry, and get up a commotion, and leave the church.”

“Madam,” said the Doctor, “do you suppose that a man who would be willing even to give up his eternal salvation for the greatest good of the universe could hesitate about a few paltry thousands that perish in the using?”

“He may feel willing to give up his soul,” said Mrs. Scudder, naively, “but I don’t think he’ll give up his ships,—­that’s quite another matter,—­he won’t see it to be his duty.”

“Then, Ma’am, he’ll be a hypocrite, a gross hypocrite, if he won’t,” said the Doctor.  “It is not Christian charity to think it of him.  I shall call upon him this morning and tell him my intentions.”

“But, Doctor,” exclaimed Mrs. Scudder, with a start, “pray, think a little more of it.  You know a great many things depend on him.  Why! he has subscribed for twenty copies of your ‘System of Theology.’  I hope you’ll remember that.”

“And why should I remember that?” said the Doctor,—­hastily turning round, suddenly enkindled, his blue eyes flashing out of their usual misty calm,—­“what has my ‘System of Theology’ to do with the matter?”

“Why,” said Mrs. Scudder, “it’s of more importance to get right views of the gospel before the world than anything else, is it not?—­and if, by any imprudence in treating influential people, this should be prevented, more harm than good would be done.”

“Madam,” said the Doctor, “I’d sooner my system should be sunk in the sea than it should be a millstone round my neck to keep me from my duty.  Let God take care of my theology; I must do my duty.”

And as the Doctor spoke, he straightened himself to the full dignity of his height, his face kindling with an unconscious majesty, and, as he turned, his eye fell on Mary, who was standing with her slender figure dilated, her large blue eye wide and bright, in a sort of trance of solemn feeling, half smiles, half tears,—­and the strong, heroic man started, to see this answer to his higher soul in the sweet, tremulous mirror of womanhood.  One of those lightning glances passed between his eyes and hers which are the freemasonry of noble spirits,—­and, by a sudden impulse, they approached each other.  He took both her outstretched hands, looked down into her face with a look full of admiration, and a sort of naive wonder,—­then, as if her inspired silence had been a voice to him, he laid his hand on her head, and said,—­

“God bless you, child!  ’Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the avenger!’”

In a moment he was gone.

“Mary,” said Mrs. Scudder, laying her hand on her daughter’s arm, “the Doctor loves you!”

“I know he does, mother,” said Mary, innocently; “and I love him,—­dearly!—­he is a noble, grand man!”

Mrs. Scudder looked keenly at her daughter.  Mary’s eye was as calm as a June sky, and she began, composedly, gathering up the teacups.