Strong rose uneasily from his seat and stood up before the fire.  He began to think himself rash for venturing into this arena.  He had always believed his cousin to be stronger than Hazard, because Hazard was a clergyman, but he had not hitherto thought her stronger than himself, and he now looked at her carefully, wondering whether he could have managed her.  Never in his life had he felt so nearly in love with her as now, under the temptation to try whether she could be made to give up her will to his.  This feeling was the stronger because even in his own eyes his conduct so far seemed a little cowardly and ridiculous.  He pulled himself up sharply, and, seeing nothing else to be done, he took up the weapons of the church and asserted the tone of authority.

“Every one who marries,” he said, “goes it blind, more or less.  If you have faith enough in Hazard to believe in him, you have faith enough to accept his church.  Faith means submission.  Submit!”

“I want to submit,” cried Esther piteously, rising in her turn and speaking in accents of real distress and passion.  “Why can’t some of you make me?  For a few minutes at a time I think it done, and then I suddenly find myself more defiant than ever.  I want nothing of the church!  Why should it trouble me?  Why should I submit to it?  Why can’t it leave me alone?”

“What you want is the Roman church,” continued Strong mercilessly.  “They know how to deal with pride of will.  Millions of men and women have gone through the same struggle, and the church tells them to fix their eyes on a symbol of faith, and if their eyes wander, scourges them for it.”  As he talked, he took up the little carved ivory crucifix which stood on the mantel-piece among other bits of studio furniture, and holding it up before her, said:  “There!  How many people do you think, have come to this Christ of yours that has no meaning to you, and in their struggle with doubt, have pressed it against their hearts till it drew blood?  Ask it!”

“Is that all?” said Esther, taking the crucifix from his hand and looking curiously at it.  Then she silently put it against her heart and pressed it with more and more force, until Strong caught her hand in alarm and pulled it away.

“Come!” said he coolly, as he forced her to give up the crucifix; “my little bluff has failed.  I throw up the hand.  You must play it out with Hazard.”

Chapter VIII

Mr. Hazard was not happy.  Like Esther he felt himself getting into a state of mind that threatened to break his spirit.  He had been used to ordering matters much as he pleased.  His parish at Cincinnati, being his creation, had been managed by him as though he owned it, but at St. John’s he found himself less free, and was conscious of incessant criticism.  He had been now some months in his new pulpit; his popular success had been marked; St. John’s was overflowing with a transient audience, like a theater, to the disgust of regular pew-owners; his