"I do not think it, I know; but I am not at liberty to reveal secrets of State. Let us put that aside, I cannot give you proof; if you wish to disbelieve it, do. But now I come to my main point. There is a side to this question about which you know nothing, but you know that in the State to-day the Church has her enemies. This indiscretion on the part of the Prince, supported by a promise from which the King cannot in honor withdraw, has suddenly put into my hands a great opportunity which must not be missed." "Into _your_ hands, papa?" "Under Providence, yes; I say it reverently. You are my daughter, and in service and loyalty to the Church you and I are as one." She looked at him steadfastly, but did not respond in words. "A great opportunity," he said again; "a great power for righteousness, to save the Church in her dire need. That is a great thing to be able to do--worth more than anything else that life can offer. To you, my daughter, that call has come; how will you answer it?" Her face had grown white, but was still hard to his appeal; he had not won her yet. "Yes," she said, "I do partly understand. I will do all for you that I can." "Then you will release the Prince from his bond." "He does not ask to be released." "That may be." Then there was silence. "My dear child," murmured the Archbishop; there was emotion in his voice, and putting out his hand he laid it upon hers. She drew herself gently from the contact. "Only if he wishes it," she said. "He will not wish it." "Then he has my word." "Your life contains other and holier vows than that, my child." She did not seem to think so. "Father," she said, "this is the man I love!" "That I realize," he replied gravely. "The question is which do you love best,--him or the Church?" Jenifer opened her eyes in a limpid and childlike wonderment. How could he ask a question the answer to which was so obvious? "Why, him!" she cried; "there is no possible comparison!" The Archbishop was deeply shocked as well as nonplussed at such an answer coming from his daughter; and meanwhile with clear sincerity of speech she went on-- "You mean the Church of Jingalo--do you not, papa?" Of course it was the Church of Jingalo that he meant, but it would not do at this juncture to say so. His daughter might be one of those dreadful people who believed that the Church would get value out of disestablishment. "I meant the Church of our fathers," said he, "the faith into which you were baptized,--the spiritual health and welfare of the whole nation." "I do not think that by marrying the Prince I shall do it any harm. I am sure that he means none." Her idea of the power of Princes struck him as curiously feminine; how little she understood of politics! "It is rather a case," said he, "of harm that you cannot prevent, except in one way. What have you in your mind? Is it the wish to sit upon a throne?"