certain
consciousness of succeeding as a theologian, but he had undoubtedly
failed as a lover. He was angry. He was as little accustomed as other
clergymen to be withstood by a girl.

"I am disappointed in you," said he. "I fancied that when I--when I----"
It was in his mind to say that he had selected her out of a large number
of candidates to be his helpmeet, but he pulled himself up in time, and
the pause that he made seemed purely emotional. "When I loved you and
got your promise to love me in return, you would share with me all the
glory, the persecution, the work incidental to this crusade on behalf of
the truth, but now----Ah! you can never have loved me."

"Perhaps you are right, indeed," said she meekly. She was ready to cede
him this point if he set any store by it.

"Take care," said he, with some measure of sternness. "Take care, if you
fancy you love another man, that he may be worthy of you."

"I do not love another man, Mr. Holland," said she gently; scarcely
regretfully.

"Do you not?" said he, with equal gentleness. "Then I will hope."

"You will do very wrong."

"You cannot say that without loving someone else. I would not like to
hear of your loving such a man as Herbert Courtland."

She started at that piece of impertinence, and then, without the
slightest further warning, she felt her body blaze from head to foot.
She was speechless with indignation.

"Perhaps I should have said a word of warning to you before." He had
now assumed the calm dignity of a clergyman who knows what is due to
himself. "I am not one to place credence in vulgar gossip; I thought
that your father, perhaps, might have given you a hint. Mrs. Linton is
undoubtedly a very silly woman. God forbid that I should ever hear rumor
play with your name as I have heard it deal with hers."

His assumption of the clergyman's solemn dignity did not make his remark
less impertinent, considering that Ella Linton was her dearest friend.
And yet people were in the habit of giving George Holland praise for
his tact. Such persons had never seen him angry, wounded, and anxious to
wound.

There was a pause after he had spoken his tactless words. It was broken
by a thrice-repeated cry from Phyllis.

"Lies! Lies! Lies!" she cried, facing him, the light of scorn in her
eyes. "I tell you that you have listened to lies; you, a clergyman, have
listened to lying gossip, and have repeated that lying gossip to me.
You have listened like a wi