"My religion heals the sick." He turned to her eagerly. "Do you believe so implicitly in Christ’s teachings that you can reproduce His miracles?" he cried. "Christ never performed any miracles. He healed sickness through the simplest belief in the world,--or rather an understanding of His Father’s power. That same privilege of understanding is open to me--and to you. You have the power within you at this very moment to heal any disease, if you only know where to look for the understanding to show you how to use it." "Do you believe that?" "I do better than believe it. I understand it. I know it." "Is there a book which will tell me how to find it?" "Yes." "Will you order it for me, or tell me where to order it?" "It is a very expensive book," said Carolina, hesitatingly, thinking of the telegraph-office. "How expensive?" "Three dollars." "Do you call that expensive for what you promise it will do?" When Carolina looked at him, he saw that she was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes. And he understood. "You only said that to try me." And she nodded. Her heart was too full of mingled emotions for her to speak. She had loved, despised, been proud of, and mortified for this man,--all with poignant, pungent vehemence,--during this three-hour ride, and at the last he had humbled and rebuked her by his childlike readiness to believe the greatest truth of the ages. She sat her horse, biting her lips to keep back the tears. "Give me just one fact to go on," he begged. "Do you read your Bible?" "I used to, till I found I was getting not to believe in it. Then I stopped for my dead father’s sake. He believed in it implicitly." "Then you have read the fourteenth chapter of John?" "I got fifty cents when I was twelve years old for learning it by heart." "Then run it over in your own mind until you come to the twelfth verse. When you get to that, say it aloud." "’Verily, verily I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father.’" He did not glance her way again, which Carolina noticed with gratitude. It showed that he was not accepting it for her sake. Presently he spoke again. "Did you yourself ever heal any one?" "Through my understanding of Divine Love, I healed Gladys Yancey," she said, quietly. The man’s face flushed with his earnestness. He lifted his hat and rode bareheaded. "Do you remember what the father of the dumb child said? ’Lord, I believe! Help thou mine unbelief!’" When they rode in at the gates of Whitehall, Moultrie was astonished at the radiance of the girl’s countenance. She seemed transfigured by love. Moultrie’s ready belief had glorified her, and for the second time her grateful thought ascended in the words, "See what Divine Love hath wrought!" CHAPTER XIV. KINFOLK