There was a pause; but they walked on. The soft splendor of the scene and all its accessories, the moonlight, and the fragrance, and the falling waters, wonderfully bewitched the spirit of the young Lothair. “There is nothing I would not tell you,” he suddenly exclaimed, turning to Theodora, “and sometimes I think there is nothing you would not tell me. Tell me, then, I entreat you, what is your religion?” “The true religion, I think,” said Theodora. “I worship in a church where I believe God dwells, and dwells for my guidance and my good—my conscience.” “Your conscience may be divine,” said Lothair, “and I believe it is; but the consciences of other persons are not divine, and what is to guide them, and what is to prevent or to mitigate the evil they would perpetrate?” “I have never heard from priests,” said Theodora, “any truth which my conscience had not revealed to me. They use different language from what I use, but I find, after a time, that we mean the thing. What I call time they call eternity; when they describe heaven, they give a picture of earth; and beings whom they style divine, they invest with all the attributes of humanity.” “And yet is it not true,” said Lothair, “that—” But, at this moment, there were the sounds of merriment and of approaching footsteps; the form of Mr. Phoebus appeared ascending the steps of the terrace, followed by others. The smokers had fulfilled their task. There were farewells, and bows, and good-nights. Lothair had to retire with the others, and, as he threw himself into his brougham, he exclaimed: “I perceive that life is not so simple an affair as I once supposed.” CHAPTER 32 When the stranger, who had proved so opportune an ally to Lothair at the Fenian meeting, separated from his companion, he proceeded in the direction of Pentonville, and, after pursuing his way through a number of obscure streets, but quiet, decent, and monotonous, he stopped at a small house in a row of many residences, yet all of them, in, form, size, color, and general character, so identical, that the number on the door could alone assure the visitor that he was not in error when he sounded the knocker. “Ah! is it you, Captain Bruges?” said the smiling and blushing maiden who answered to his summons. “We have not seen you for a long time.” “Well, you look as kind and as pretty as ever, Jenny,” said the captain, “and how is my friend?” “Well,” said the damsel, and she shrugged her shoulders, “he mopes. I’m very glad you have come back, captain, for he sees very few now, and is always writing. I cannot bear that writing; if he would only go and take a good walk, I am sure he would be better.” “There is something in that,” said Captain Bruges. “And is he at home, and will he see me?” “Oh! he is always at home to you, captain; but I will just run up and tell him you are here. You know it is long since we have seen you, captain—coming on half a year, I think.”