e as death, her lips quivered,
and from her eyes shot a keen light that seemed to lacerate their blue.

"It is terrible!" she said. "I never read anything like that."

"There _is_ nothing like it," he answered.

"But the author is a Unitarian, is he not?" remarked Mary--for she
heard plenty of theology, if not much Christianity, in her chapel.

Godfrey looked at her, then at the book for a moment.

"That may merely seem, from the necessity of the supposition," he
answered; and read again:

"'Now sank from aloft a noble, high Form, with a look of uneffaceable
sorrow, down to the Altar, and all the Dead cried out, "Christ! is
there no God?" He answered, "There is none!" The whole Shadow of each
then shuddered, not the breast alone; and one after the other all, in
this shuddering, shook into pieces.'--"You see," he went on, "that if
there be no God, Christ can only be the first of men."

"I understand," said Mary.

"Do you really then, Mary?" said Letty, looking at her with wondering
admiration.

"I only meant," answered Mary--"but," she went on, interrupting
herself, "I do think I understand it a little. If Mr. Wardour would be
kind enough to read it through again!"

"With much pleasure," answered Godfrey, casting on her a glance of
pleased surprise.

The second reading affected Mary more than the first--because, of
course, she took in more. And this time a glimmer of meaning broke on
the slower mind of Letty: as her cousin read the passage, "Oh, then
came, fearful for the heart, the dead Children who had been awakened in
the Churchyard, into the temple, and cast themselves before the high
Form on the Altar, and said, 'Jesus, have we no Father?' And he
answered, with streaming tears: 'We are all orphans, I and you; we are
without Father!'"--at this point Letty gave her little cry, then bit
her lip, as if she had said something wrong.

All the time a great bee kept buzzing in and out of the arbor, and Mary
vaguely wondered how it could be so careless.

"I can't be dead stupid after all, Cousin Godfrey," said Letty, with
broken voice, when once more he ceased, and, as she spoke, she pressed
her hand on her heart, "for something kept going through and through
me; but I can not say yet I understand it.--If you will lend me the
book," she continued, "I will read it over again before I go to bed."

He shut the volume, handed it to her, and began to talk about something
else.

Mary rose to go.

"You will tak