“There is our chance,” he said, pointing to the stairs. Upon the first landing, but three steps from the floor, there was a semicircular recess along whose wall ran a cushioned seat. At the entrance, upon a pedestal of Sienna marble, sat a Cupid with a finger upon his lips; a bit of ancient sculpture from a Roman temple. Behind him, within, an inviting gloom suggested repose and silence. As they stepped upon the tiger-skin that nearly covered the landing, Miss Cabot was accosted by a man whose thoughtful face brightened up at the meeting. When he glanced at her companion there was a similar welcome, and they called each other John and Amos, and appeared to be on intimate terms. After a short conversation he left them and descended into the hall. She was puzzled at the friendship of these two men, and wondered what there could possibly be in common between a promising clergyman of exceptional purity of character and this dissolute, hot-headed Judd. As they seated themselves in the alcove, she said, in a tone of surprise: “So you and John Harding are friends!” He smiled. “Yes; and I lament your astonishment.” She blushed at her stupid betrayal of the thought, while he made no effort to conceal his amusement. “It may be an unkind thing to say of him, but we have been good friends for several years.” Laying her fan in her lap, she devoted both hands to the wandering lock. “Is that what drove him to the church?” “No. For that I am not responsible, thank Heaven!” “Why thank Heaven? Is there any harm in being a clergyman?” “It depends on the man. In this case it certainly seems a waste of good material.” Now, it happened that Molly Cabot’s religious convictions were deeply rooted, and she felt a thrill of indignation at this slur upon a sacred calling. Of course, it was not surprising that a spoiled youth with a murderous temper should prove an atheist and a scoffer, but she was irritated, and instinctively took the field as the champion of a righteous cause. “Then you consider it a waste of good material for an honest man to serve the church?” Her energy surprised him, but he answered, pleasantly: “I do not say that. No one is too good for any honest work. I only say that a man of John Harding’s originality and courage puts himself in a false position by so doing.” “I do not see how,” and her eyes were fixed upon his own in open hostility. He still smiled serenely and met her glance with provoking calmness. “Well, at present he is young and full of enthusiasm, believing everything, and more besides; but he is only twenty-seven now and will do a heap of thinking before he is forty. The pathetic part of it is that he binds himself to a creed, and the man who can think for thirteen years on any subject without modifying his faith ought to be in a museum.” “Not if it is the true faith.” “If it is the true faith, there is danger in thinking, as he may think away from it; so why waste a brain like Harding’s?”