“I did not feel very brave to-day,” she replied, smiling sadly. “But a little sympathy serves to revive my courage. Do you remember that passage in Bacon, 'Mark what a courage a dog will put on when sustained by a nature higher than its own'? That is how it is with us women--those of the strong-minded tribe excepted; man is to us a kind of _melior natura_, without whose sustaining aid we degenerate into abject cowards.” A red flush came into Mr. Northcott's dull-hued cheeks. “I presume you are joking, Miss Churton; but if--” “No, not joking,” she quickly returned; “although I perhaps did not mean as much as I said. But I wish I could show my gratitude for the comfort you give me--for upholding me with your stronger nature.” “Do you, Miss Churton? Then I will be so bold as to make a request, although I am perhaps running the risk of offending you. Will you come to church next Sunday? I don't mean in the morning, but in the evening. Please don't think for a moment that I have any faith in my power to influence your mind in any way. I am not such a conceited ass as to imagine anything of the sort. My motive for making the request was quite independent of any such considerations. My experience is that those who lose faith in Christianity do not recover it. I speak, of course, of people who know their own minds.” “I know my own mind, Mr. Northcott.” “No doubt; and for that very reason I am not afraid to ask you this. You used occasionally to come to church, so that it can't be scruples of conscience that keep you away. As a rule, in London we always have a very fair sprinkling of agnostics in a congregation, and sometimes more than a sprinkling.”