"Yes," I said sadly, "you would, in the good old times, have followed it over stony pavements, in midnight penance, or now into any thorny path which it pointed out; and I believe that many such paths lead away from the God of whom Mrs. Yocomb spoke to-day. Miss Warren, I'm a man of the world, and probably you think my views on these subjects are not worth much. It's strange that your own nature does not suggest to you the only sure guide. It seems to me that conscience should always go to truth for instructions. The men who killed your brother thought they were right as truly as he did; but history will prove that they were wrong, as so many sincere people have been in every age. He did not suffer and die uselessly, for the truth was beneath his feet and in his heart." "Dear, brave, noble Herbert!" she sighed. "Oh, that God had spared him to me!" "I wish he had," I said, with quiet emphasis. "I wish he was with you here and now." Again she gave me a questioning, troubled look through her tears. "Then you believe truth to be absolutely binding?" she asked, in a low voice. "Yes. In science, religion, ethics, or human action, nothing can last--nothing can end well that is not built squarely on truth." She became very pale; but she turned quietly to her piano as she said: "You are right, Mr. Morton; there can be no peace--not even self-respect--without truth. My nature would be pitiful indeed did it not teach me that." She had interpreted my words in a way that intensified the influence of Mrs. Yocomb's sermon. To be false to the trust that she had led her affianced to repose in her still seemed the depth of degradation. I feared that she would take this view at first, but believed, if my hope had any foundation, she would think my words over so often that she would discover a different meaning.