"By the grace of God
you converted him, and he hadn't ought to ask more of you. But I have a
kind of feeling that Mr. Lindsay'll be harder to convince."

"I dare say."

"It would be splendid, though, to garner him in. He might be willing to
march with us and subscribe half his pay, like poor Captain Corby, of
the Queen's Army, did in Rangoon."

"He might be proud to."

"We must all try and bring sin home to him," Mrs. Sand remarked with
rising energy; "and don't you go saying anything to him hastily. If he's
gone on you----"

"Oh, Ensign; let us hope he is thinking of higher things! Let us both
pray for him. Let Captain Sand pray for him, too, and I'll ask the
Lieutenant. Now that she's got Miss Rozario safe into the Kingdom, I
don't think she has any special object."

"Oh, yes, we'll pray for him," Ensign Sand returned, as if that might
have gone without saying, "but you----"

"And give me that precious baby. You must be completely worn out. I
should enjoy taking care of him; indeed I should."

"It's the first--the very first--time she ever took that draggin' child
out of my arms for an instant," the Ensign remarked to her husband and
next in command later in the evening, but she resigned the infant
without protest at the time. Laura carried him into her own room with
something like gaiety, and there repeated to him more nursery rhymes,
dating from secular Putney, than she would have believed she remembered.

The Believers' Rally, as will be understood, was a gathering of some
selectness. If the Chinaman came, it was because of the vagueness of his
reception of the privileges he claimed; and his ignorance of all tongues
but his own left no medium for turning him out. Qualms of conscience,
however, kept all Miss Rozario's young lady friends away, and these
also, doubtless, operated to detain Duff Lindsay. One does not attend a
Believers' Rally unless one's personal faith extends beyond the lady in
command of it, and one specially refrains if one's spiritual condition
is a delicate and debatable matter with her. In Wellesley square, later
in the evening, the conditions were different. It would not be easy to
imagine a scene that suggested greater liberality of sentiment. The moon
shed her light upon it, and the palms threw fretted shadows down. Beyond
them, on four sides, lines of street-lamps shone, and tram-drivers
whistled bullock carts off the lines, and street pedlars lifted their
cries. A torch marked t