an was the one person of her
acquaintance to whom she would rather listen than talk.

"It is a morbid and unhealthy habit," he went on, "to introduce religion
into everything, in the way that English people are so fond of doing. It
decreases their pleasures by casting its shadow over purely human and
natural joys; and it increases their sorrow and want by teaching them to
lean upon some hypothetical Power, instead of trying to do the best
that they can for themselves. Also it enervates their reasoning
faculties; for nothing is so detrimental to one's intellectual strength
as the habit of believing things which one knows to be impossible."

"Then don't you believe in religion of any kind?"

"Most certainly I do--in many religions. I believe in the religion of
art and of science and of humanity, and countless more; in fact, the
only religion I do not believe in is Christianity, because that spoils
all the rest by condemning art as fleshly, science as untrue, and
humanity as sinful. I want to bring the old Pantheism to life again, and
to teach our people to worship beauty as the Greeks worshipped it of
old; and I want you to help me."

Elisabeth gasped as Elisha might have gasped when Elijah's mantle fell
upon him. She was as yet too young to beware of false prophets. "I
should love to make people happy," she said; "there seems to be so much
happiness in the world and so few that find it."

"The Greeks found it; therefore, why should not the English? I mean to
teach them to find it, and I shall begin with your work-people on Whit
Monday."

"What shall you do?" asked the girl, with intense interest.

"It is no good taking away old lamps until you are prepared to offer new
ones in their place; therefore I shall not take away the consolations
(so called) of religion until I have shown the people a more excellent
way. I shall first show them nature, and then art--nature to arouse
their highest instincts, and art to express the same; and I am
convinced that after they have once been brought face to face with the
beautiful thus embodied, the old faiths will lose the power to move
them."

When Whit Monday came round, the throbbing heart of the Osierfield
stopped beating, as it was obliged to stop on a bank-holiday; and the
workmen, with their wives and sweethearts, were taken by Alan Tremaine
in large brakes to Pembruge Castle, which the owner had kindly thrown
open to them, at Alan's request, for the occasion.

It was