“In reality, not much. I would get rid of the religion.” “Get rid of the religion!” said Lothair. “You have got rid of it once,” said the professor. “You have altered, you have what people call reformed it,” said Lothair; “but you have not abolished or banished it from the university.” “The shock would not be greater, nor so great, as the change from the papal to the Reformed faith. Besides, universities have nothing to do with religion.” “I thought universities were universal,” said Lothair, “and had something to do with every thing.” “I cannot conceive any society of any kind without religion,” said the lady. Lothair glanced at her beautiful brow with devotion as she uttered these words. Colonel Campian began to talk about horses. After that the professor proved to him that he was related to Edmund Campian, the Jesuit; and then he got to the Gunpowder Plot, which, he was not sure, if successful, might not have beneficially influenced the course of our history. Probably the Irish difficulty would not then have existed. “I dislike plots,” said the lady; “they always fail.” “And, whatever their object, are they not essentially immoral?” said Lothair. “I have more faith in ideas than in persons,” said the lady. “When a truth is uttered, it will, sooner or later, be recognized. It is only an affair of time. It is better that it should mature and naturally germinate than be forced.” “You would reduce us to lotus-eaters,” exclaimed the professor. “Action is natural to man. And what, after all, are conspiracies and revolutions but great principles in violent action?” “I think you must be an admirer of repose,” said Lothair to the lady, in a low voice. “Because I have seen something of action in my life;” said the lady, “and it is an experience of wasted energies and baffled thoughts.” When they returned to the saloon, the colonel and the professor became interested in the constitution and discipline of the American universities. Lothair hung about the lady, who was examining some views of Oxford, and who was ascertaining what she had seen and what she had omitted to visit. They were thinking of returning home on the morrow. “Without seeing Blenheim?” said Lothair. “Without seeing Blenheim,” said the lady; “I confess to a pang; but I shall always associate with that name your great kindness to us.” “But cannot we for once enter into a conspiracy together,” said Lothair, “and join in a happy plot and contrive to go? Besides, I could take you to the private gardens, for the duke has given me a perpetual order, and they are really exquisite.” The lady seemed to smile. “Theodora,” said the colonel, speaking from the end of the room, “what have you settled about your train to-morrow?” “We want to stay another day here,” said Theodora, “and go to Blenheim.” CHAPTER 25 They were in the private gardens at Blenheim. The sun was brilliant over the ornate and yet picturesque scene. “Beautiful, is it not?” exclaimed Lothair.