munion. You used to believe that that made you a
partaker of God; well, we are all partakers of God, because we are human
beings. Don't you see that Christianity is only one way of saying all
that? I dare say it was the only way, for a time; but that is all over
now. Oh! and how much better this is! It is true--true. You can see it
to be true!"

She paused a moment, forcing herself to look at that piteous old face,
the flushed wrinkled cheeks, the writhing knotted hands on the coverlet.

"Look how Christianity has failed--how it has divided people; think of
all the cruelties--the Inquisition, the Religious Wars; the separations
between husband and wife and parents and children--the disobedience to
the State, the treasons. Oh! you cannot believe that these were right.
What kind of a God would that be! And then Hell; how could you ever have
believed in that?... Oh! mother, don't believe anything so frightful....
Don't you understand that that God has gone--that He never existed at
all--that it was all a hideous nightmare; and that now we all know at
last what the truth is.... Mother! think of what happened last
night--how He came--the Man of whom you were so frightened. I told you
what He was like--so quiet and strong--how every one was silent--of
the--the extraordinary atmosphere, and how six millions of people saw
Him. And think what He has done--how He has healed all the old
wounds--how the whole world is at peace at last--and of what is going to
happen. Oh! mother, give up those horrible old lies; give them up; be
brave."

"The priest, the priest!" moaned the old woman at last.

"Oh! no, no, no--not the priest; he can do nothing. He knows it's all
lies, too!"

"The priest! the priest!" moaned the other again. "He can tell you; he
knows the answer."

Her face was convulsed with effort, and her old fingers fumbled and
twisted with the rosary. Mabel grew suddenly frightened, and stood up.

"Oh! mother!" She stooped and kissed her. "There! I won't say any more
now. But just think about it quietly. Don't be in the least afraid; it
is all perfectly right."

She stood a moment, still looking compassionately down; torn by sympathy
and desire. No! it was no use now; she must wait till the next day.

"I'll look in again presently," she said, "when you have had dinner.
Mother! don't look like that! Kiss me!"

It was astonishing, she told herself that evening, how any one could be
so blind. And what a confession of we