"If there is one thing that I admire it is a Puritan," he said, coolly, "of late it is so much the fashion to berate them. Puritan is a synonym for priggishness and general narrow-mindedness. The people are mad. Do they forget the stern stuff to which they owe their country, their liberties, their very existence? Away with this sugared sweetness of, 'No matter what one's faith is as long as one lives properly.' I say, one's faith is one's life." "You are quite excited," said his hostess, becoming calm herself. "It always excites me. New England is burnt over with heresies. I long for the day of awakening, for the wave of enthusiasm that will spread over this country and bring back the people to the faith of their forefathers." "You are a fanatic." "I wish I were." "You are also an egotist. If you believe what you say you do, if it was really your firm conviction that my soul was in danger, there would be no getting rid of you. Night and day you would roam around French Cross, calling on me to repent." "True, true," he said, "I acknowledge it with shame. Were I what I ought to be I would leave my desk to-morrow. Paltry worldly affairs would sink into insignificance. I would start on a holy crusade." "Whereas you sit quietly here and will go quietly to your bank to-morrow, when if you and your church were carrying out the doctrines you profess you would have all Rossignol beating its breast,--but I am wearying you, let us talk on other subjects." "First, Miss Gastonguay," he remarked, in a lower voice, "let me add a word that I have often wished to say to you. You do not care for me, and I do not blame you, but let me assure you of my respect and interest in you. You only lack personal religion,--will you not submit your heart to God?" "No, I will not, Justin Mercer." His face softened still more. "Once, long ago, when I was a boy, I heard my father's voice in the night. You know what a saintly man he became,--it was his frequent habit to rise from his bed and pray for the souls of his fellow men. That night I heard the mention of your name. He was praying that you might be saved. Miss Gastonguay, I believe you will." She put her hand to her head. How many more blows was this young man to inflict on her. "I suppose you know," she said, with a sickly smile, "that I might have been your mother." He smiled too.