gh she had decided to ignore that argument of the printing-press
and bath-tub, it wormed itself into the inner chambers of her brain; and
it refused to make way for better thoughts. As the possessor of a
depositic conscience she suffered the miseries of guilt. For despite all
reasoning of her own, she began to feel that unless those arguments were
refuted, her faith might suffer: and, with her, an untarnished faith was
vital.

The motion of her berth, the rhythmic pounding of the engines, the
muffled sound, at intervals, of feet upon the deck, all were soothing;
but the remembrance of that discussion, with its mortifying climax, made
sleep impossible. This childish sensitiveness she fully realized,--and
despised,--but nerves achieved an easy victory over reason.

She was glad when daylight came. Long before the breakfast hour she left
her state-room and sought the deck for fresh air, and for Father Burke.
He, also an early riser, was discovered in the lee of the upper cabins,
his little prayer-book in his hand. Sitting close beside him she gave,
in detail, the story of her conversation with Mr. Boyd. It was in the
nature of a confession, but delivered in the hope and in the faith of
the enemy's discomfiture. She felt, of course, that the statements
concerning the press and tub were false and foolish, and she knew that
Father Burke could tell her why.

Her confidence was not misplaced. This was not the first time Father
Burke had been called upon to stiffen the faith of wavering converts.
Considerable experience and a perfect familiarity with the subject
rendered the task an easy one. The tones of Father Burke's voice were,
in themselves, almost sufficient for the purpose. Deep, calm, mellow,
ravishingly sympathetic, they played like celestial zephyrs upon the
chords of the maiden's heart. They filled the inmost recesses of her
soul with security and peace. His arguments were the old, familiar
things, considerably damaged by Protestants and other heretics; but he
knew his audience. And when the spell had worked, when the wings beside
him ceased to flutter, he drove the final bolt.

"You know, my child, that the value of a statement depends largely upon
the character of him who utters it. I have no desire to injure this
young man, nor to prejudice you in any way against him. But it is
clearly my duty to warn you that he is not a person with whom it would
be safe for you to permit a very close acquaintance."

"You nee