“What is it that is so amusing?” asked Ernest in vexation. “I had hoped that you would talk seriously about this matter of such vital importance.” “The idea of my joining the church, and giving up my dancing and all other amusements, is simply preposterous. It is funny.” “But suppose you were to die,” said Ernest, “what would become of you? Are you willing to sacrifice your soul for a few worldly pleasures which, after all, add nothing to your happiness?” “Why, are you going to turn preacher, too?” said Clara with an amused expression. “That’s just the way Dr. Coyt has been preaching for the last five or six days.” “I am no preacher, and never expect to be,” replied Ernest, “but that is no reason why I should not want my friends saved, especially such a friend as you will be.” Clara bit her cherry nether lip, and laying aside her mood of levity, said: “I should like to know what we are to do in this world, if we are forbidden to enjoy life. That is what I dislike about religious people. They are so gloomy, and can talk about nothing but death. I hate to be with them.” This was spoken in such a way as to cause Ernest to see again the yawning chasm gaping between them. “O, my dear Clara!” he exclaimed with trembling tenderness, “how you are mistaken!” “Why, how do you know?” she asked in surprise. “You have not been one of them long enough to find out, I should think. How did you become so wise, all of a sudden?” Ernest was not at all pleased with the manner in which she addressed him, but he durst not manifest the least vexation in the critical juncture of his amatory affairs. He felt that a quarrel might terminate in a final overthrow of the fond hopes upon which his heart had fed for months past. He, therefore, spoke as mildly and affectionately as possible: “I have learned something about it even in the last few hours. I have never experienced such a sense of love, joy and peace in all my previous life. I am astonished at myself for never having turned my attention sooner to eternal things. All these years, since I reached the line of moral responsibility, have been almost wasted, or, at least, the spiritual enjoyments of all this time have been lost to me; and how I regret it!” “How you do talk?” exclaimed Clara. “Do you expect to keep up such lecturing all our lives? If you do, we may as well--” “May as well what?” asked Ernest with a sinking heart. “May as well follow divergent paths,” she said with a timidity which implied that she, by no means, desired the proposition to be accepted. “No, my dear Clara, I shall not mention it again if it is unpleasant to you. I shall leave you in the hands of God and continue to pray for you. I think you will take a different view of the matter after a while.” “But I would as soon you would talk to me as to look at me as if I were a criminal.”