"I would hardly have thought that such a question would have suggested itself to you, Prof. Seabrook, knowing, as you do, the high price demanded for some of your own text-books. Then, regarding the teaching, Hilton students pay from eight hundred to a thousand dollars a year, according to the privileges they enjoy, not counting the extras; and the course is four years, making quite a round sum in the aggregate. You force me to be personal as well as practical in my arguments," Mrs. Minturn interposed, with an arch smile. "Now for the other side of the question. Seventeen years ago I was healed of what several physicians--to whom I paid many hundreds of dollars--said was an incurable disease, by simply reading 'Science and Health,' for which I paid three dollars. A year later I studied with one of Mrs. Eddy's loyal students, to whom I paid one hundred dollars for my course of instruction. Since that time I have never employed a physician or paid out a penny for medicines. In view of these facts, do you think that the price of the book and teaching should be regarded as 'exorbitant,' 'out of all reason,' an 'imposition upon the public,' and many similar expressions, as are repeated over and over by numerous denouncers and newspapers?" Prof. Seabrook made a deprecatory gesture. "I am ashamed to have raised such a point," he said; "it seems exceedingly narrow and petty." "And besides," Mrs. Minturn continued, "this same book and teaching have enabled me to heal hundreds of people of all manner of diseases, and send them on their way rejoicing and to help others. Ah!" she cried, with eyes that shone through starting tears, "how can anyone speak slightingly of that dear woman who has been instrumental in giving such a boon to suffering humanity, or criticise any act which, in her God-given wisdom, she is led to do? But, I am sure, I have talked enough for now, although I am at your service at any time if other questions arise to perplex," she concluded, as she arose, and the little company, after a few moments spent in social converse, separated for the night. A few days later Miss Reynolds sought Katharine. The girl was in a music room, where she had been practicing for nearly an hour, and arose as her friend entered, an expectant look on her face, for she seemed to feel at once that there was something unusual in the atmosphere. The woman was evidently in a strangely serious mood. There was an expression of exaltation in her eyes, which told of some deep, new experience that had aroused profound reverence and wonder, and a drooping of her sweet lips that bespoke a spirit bowed beneath a sense of humility, and she carried a letter in her hand. "Read that, dear," she said, in a repressed tone, as she passed it to her pupil. Katherine removed the missive from its envelope and read: "MISS ADELE REYNOLDS: