ons of some undefinable joy and glory in an equally undefinable
Hereafter, that was sometimes described as a place, and sometimes as a
state. That was all. I feel such things cannot long stand against the
tide of advancing thought. Modern Christianity is not the Sermon on the
Mount, and has little title to the name of its founder. It has not a
feather's weight of importance in the minds of the worldly, the
fashionable, the pleasure-seeking; its sentiment is extinct, save in a
few faithful ignorant hearts, who adore what they cannot comprehend, and
live in a state of hope that all will come right in some vague future."

The beautiful eyes had grown sad and thoughtful. They rested on the
eager wondering face before her, yet seemed to look through and beyond
it, as the eyes of one who sees a vision that is mere airy nothingness
to the surrounding crowd.

"It will come right," she went on slowly and dreamily, "but not as men
think, and not because the religion of earth teaches fear of punishment
and hope of reward as the basis of spiritual faith. No. Something
higher and holier and deeper than any motive of self-safety will perfect
what is best in man and eliminate what is vile."

"If that is so," interposed Mrs Jefferson, glibly, as she rose from her
chair to proceed to the Second Room--"I guess man will want a pretty
long time to `perfect' in. I don't see how he's going to do it here."

"I did not say `here,'" answered the stranger, in her slow, calm way, as
she, too, rose and prepared to follow the little American. "For what,
think you, are the ages of Eternity intended?--sleep and dreams?"

Mrs Jefferson gave a little shudder. "I surmise we're getting a little
too deep," she said. "Let's keep to Gladstone and the Irish Question
while the thermometer's at 110."

CHAPTER TWO.

THE SECOND ROOM.

The second room differed in no way from the first, except in the matter
of heat.

The beautiful stranger floated in--her face all the lovelier for the
faint rosy flush that glowed through the clear skin. If Mrs Ray
Jefferson's admiration was envious, at least it was genuine. She had
never really believed in perfect feminine beauty before--beauty that
shone supreme without the aid of dress and frippery--but here it was--a
glowing and palpable fact. The simple white drapery with its border of
scarlet floated with the grace of its own perfect simplicity around that
perfect form, and never was royal mantle m