"Let me test you. Miss Brown, have you such a book in the house? Oh, yes, here is an elegantly bound copy, but looking as if never opened. And now, Miss Winthrop, this city is full of all sorts of horrid people, living in alleys and tenement houses. They are poor, half-naked, hungry, and sometimes starving. Many are in prison, and more ought to be; many are strangers, more utterly alone and lonely in our crowded streets than on a desert island. They are suffering from varieties of disgusting disease, and having a hard time generally. How many hungry people have you fed? How many strangers (I do not mean distinguished ones from abroad) have you taken in and comforted? How many of the naked have you clothed? And how long is your list of the sick and imprisoned that you have visited, my luxurious little lady?" A real pallor overspread Miss Winthrop's sunny face, for she saw what was coming, but she answered, honestly, "I have done practically nothing of all this." Then she added: "Papa and mamma are not willing that I should visit such places and people. I have asked that I might, but they always discourage me, and tell of the awful experiences of those who do." "Then they don't believe the Bible, either," said Christine; "for if they did they would insist on your doing it; and if you believed you would do all this in spite of them; for see what is written here; the very Being that you worship and dedicate your churches to will say, because of your not doing this, 'Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels.' And this is but one of many similar passages. Now all this is a monstrous fable to me. The idea of any such experiences awaiting my light-hearted little Sybarite here!" Miss Winthrop had buried her face in her hands, and was trembling from head to foot. The words of God never seemed so real and true before as now when uttered by an unbeliever. "I don't believe there is any such place or things," said Miss Brown, bluntly. "There spake my mature and thoughtful friend who is not to be imposed upon," said Christine, with a touch of irony in her tone. Dennis had listened in sad wonder. Such words of cynical unbelief were in dark, terrible contrast with the fair young face. He saw the mind and training of her father in all she said, but he bitterly condemned the worldly, inconsistent life of multitudes in the church who do more to confirm unbelievers than all their sophistries. But as she went on, seemingly having the argument all her own way, his whole soul burned to meet and refute her fatal views. For her own sake and the others' as well as for the dishonored name of his Lord, he must in some way turn the tide. Though regarded as a humble servitor, having no right to take part in the conversation, he determined that his hands must lift up the standard of truth if no others would or could. To his joy he found that the programme would soon give him the coveted opportunity.