"Well," said Lottie, averting her face, "I don't think I'll promise you anything this time either. You must wait and see. But is that dreadful frontier life of yours a foregone conclusion?" "Yes," he said, with quiet emphasis. "There are plenty of heathen in New York, Mr. Hemstead. You found one of them in me, and see how much good you have done; at least, I hope you have." "There are also plenty of Christians in New York to take care of them. I commend some of the heathen to you." "I fear that they will remain heathen for all that I can do." "No, indeed, Miss Marsden. Please never think that. No one has a right to say, 'I can do nothing,' and you least of all. Apart from your other gifts, you abound in personal magnetism, and almost instantly gain control of those around you." "How mistaken you are! I have no control over you." "More than you think, perhaps," he said, flushing deeply. It was his heart that spoke then, and not his will, instructed by deliberate reason. She too blushed, but said laughingly, "What are words? Let me test my power. Take a church in New York, instead of a thousand miles out of the world." "You are not in earnest," he said, a little sadly. "You would not seek to dissuade me from what I regard as a sacred duty?" "But is it 'a sacred duty'? There are plenty of others--less cultivated, less capable of doing good--in the refined and critical East." "That is not the way a soldier reasons. Some one must go to the front of the battle. And what excuse can such a vigorous young fellow as I am have for hanging back?" As he turned his glowing face upon her she caught his enthusiasm, and said impulsively, "And in the front of the battle I would be, if I were a man, as I often wish I were." "The line of God's battle with evil is very long, Miss Marsden. I think you can find the front in New York as truly as I in the West. In this fight woman can often do as much as man. Won't you try?" "I shall not promise you anything," she said. "You must wait and see." They were now before the parsonage in the hamlet of Scrub Oaks. The sound of the bells brought Mrs. Dlimm's faded face to the window, and on recognizing them she clapped her hands for joy, as one of her own children might have done; and a moment later was smiling upon the little porch, the very embodiment of welcome. CHAPTER XXIII. A RATIONALIST OF THE OLD SCHOOL. "I knew you would come," said Mrs. Dlimm, taking both of Lottie's hands with utter absence of formality. "Husband said I needn't look for you any more, but I felt it in my bones--no, my heart--that you would come. When I feel a thing is going to take place it always does. So you are here. I am very glad to see your--Mr. Hemstead--too. This is splendid." And Mrs. Dlimm exultantly ushered Lottie into the room that, when last seen, was crowded with such a motley assembly. Hemstead meanwhile drove the horse to an adjacent shed. "But he isn't my Mr. Hemstead," said Lottie, laughing.