She was a little puzzled. Was he, like some young clergy-men she had known, eager for a few crumbs of praise for his first crude efforts? She was not one to give any faint and hollow commendation, and yet she did not wish to hurt his feelings. But her reply had a tinge of satire in it, for she had no patience with the weakness of vanity. "I will hardly venture an opinion. You, who have given so much time and thought to these subjects, ought to be a better judge than I." He felt, rather than saw, the delicate barb, and flushed slightly as he replied, "I admit that perhaps I ought to be, but whether I am or not, is quite another question. I am sure that your views upon the subjects treated yesterday are far truer than mine were. The wretched, heretical sermon that I inflicted upon you has already justly suffered an auto da fe. Before the day was over I saw that instead of preaching the gospel I had been elaborating, from a partial premise, a crude view of my own. I shall no longer preach, that is, if I preach at all, as if human nature were the raw material which God intended to work up without any regard to the process, or how much refuse there was, or what became of it. Is not Christ weeping from sympathy at the grave of Lazarus a true manifestation of God's feeling toward us?" "Mr. Hemstead," Miss Martell exclaimed, "I cannot tell you how glad I am to know your change of views. Most emphatically I say yes to your question. God is seeking to develop my character; only He is more patient and gentle than my good, kind father. But why do you say, 'If I preach at all'?" His head bowed in honest humility, as he replied, in a low tone, "I often doubt whether I am worthy,--whether I am called." She now saw that she had misjudged him, and was eager to reassure and confirm his purpose for life; and the converse that followed had grown so absorbing as to cause Hemstead to forget for the time one, who by some right, divine or otherwise, had suddenly taken possession of his thoughts with a despotism as sweet as absolute. But while Miss Martell was speaking most earnestly to Hemstead, she saw some one enter the chapel door. Her color came and went. The sentence upon her lips faltered to a lame conclusion, and though she became deeply absorbed in the process of twining the fragrant cedar with the shiny laurel, she did not work as deftly as before. Looking round to see the cause, Hemstead caught one of Lottie's reproachful glances, and was soon at her side with a sense of almost guilty neglect.