its harshness."

"Never regret that you saved a poor fellow's life, reason, fortune,
family name from shame and blood," Arthur answered hotly. "I told you
the consequences that were coming--you averted them--there's no use to
talk of gratitude--and through you I came to believe in God again, as my
mother taught me. No regret, for God's sake."

His voice broke for a moment, and he walked to the window. Outside he
saw the gray-white walls which would some day be the grand cathedral.
The space about it looked like the studio of a giant artist; piles of
marble scattered here and there gave the half-formed temple the air of a
frowsy, ill-dressed child; and the mass rising to the sky resembled a
cloud that might suddenly melt into the ether. He had seen the great
temples of the world, yet found in this humbler, but still magnificent
structure an element of wonder. From the old world, ancient, rich in
tradition, one expected all things; centaurs might spring from its soil
unnoticed. That the prosaic rocks of Manhattan should heave for this
sublimity stirred the sense of admiring wonder.

"This is your child?" said Arthur abruptly.

"I saw the foundation laid when I was a youth, great boulders of
half-hewn rock, imbedded in cement, to endure with the ages, able to
support whatever man may pile upon them. This building is part of my
life--you may call it my child--for it seems to have sprung from me,
although a greater planned it."

"What a people to attempt this miracle," said Arthur.

"Now you have said it," cried the priest proudly. "The poor people to
whom you now belong, moved by the spirit which raised the great shrines
of Europe, are building out of their poverty and their faith the first
really great temple on this continent. The country waited for them. This
temple will express more than a desire to have protection from bad
weather, and to cover the preacher's pulpit. Here you will have in stone
faith, hope, love, sacrifice. What blessings it will pour out upon the
city, and upon the people who built it. For them it will be a great
glory many centuries perhaps."

"I shall have my share in the work," Arthur said with feeling. "I feel
that I am here to stay, and I shall be a stranger to no work in which my
friends are engaged. I'll not let the mysteries trouble me. I begin to
see what you are, and a little of what you mean. Command me, for no
other in this world to-day has any right to command me--none with a
ri