of his old
sermons."

"But he was a Presbyterian!" In her tone and inflection Aunt Bell ably
conveyed an exposition of the old gentleman's impossibility--lucidly
allotting him to spiritual fellowship with the head-hunters of Borneo.

"I know it, but, Aunt Bell, those old sermons really did me good; all
full of fire they were, too, but you felt a _man_ back of them--a good
man, a real man. You liked him, and it didn't matter that his
terminology was at times a little eccentric. Grandfather's theology
fitted the last days of his life about as crinoline and hoop-skirts
would fit over there on the avenue to-day--but he always made me feel
religious. It seemed sweet and good to be a Christian when he talked.
With all his antiquated beliefs he never made me doubt as--as I doubt
to-day. But it was another thing I wanted to show you--something I
found--some old compositions of Bernal's that his grandfather must have
kept. Here's one about birds--'jingle-birds, squeak-birds and
clatter-birds.' No?--you wouldn't care for that?--well--listen to this."

She read the youthful Bernal's effort to rehabilitate the much-blemished
reputation of Judas--a paper that had been curiously preserved by the
old man.

"Poor Judas, indeed!" The novelty was not lost upon Aunt Bell, expert
that she was in all obliquities from accepted tradition.

"The funny boy! Very ingenious, I'm sure. I dare say no one ever before
said a good word for Judas since the day of his death, and this lad
would canonise him out of hand. Think of it--St. Judas!"

Nancy lay back among the cushions, talking idly, inconsequently.

"You see, there was at least one man created, Aunt Bell, who could by no
chance be saved--one man who had to betray the Son of Man--one man to be
forever left out of the Christian scheme of salvation, even if every
other in the world were saved. There had to be one man to disbelieve, to
betray and to lie in hell for it, or the whole plan would have been
frustrated. There was a theme for Dante, Aunt Bell--not the one soul in
hell, but the other souls in heaven slowly awakening to the suffering of
that one soul--to the knowledge that he was suffering in order that they
might be saved. Do you think they would find heaven to be real heaven if
they knew he was burning? And don't you think a poet could make some
interesting talk between this solitary soul predestined to hell, and the
God who planned the scheme?"

Aunt Bell looked bored and utte