“Wrong, Mrs. Randolph. I have not read your father-in-law’s will, though I shall make it a point to do so as soon as possible. I know only what Alice has told me, and hence am well aware that she will lose her fortune in the event of becoming my wife.” “Yet you urge her to do so!” “You mistake. I leave her to decide for herself.” “Harry would not refuse his consent if it were not for you,” interposed Alice. “It is really you who oppose us, Jennie.” “And have I not good cause?” cried Mrs. Randolph. “Would your father himself have consented to your marriage with an infidel, an atheist?” Alice Randolph grew pale, then flushed deeply as she hesitated to reply, while her sister looked on, in her turn triumphantly. A sparkle came into the blue eyes of her lover as they searched hers. “That,” he said, “is a strong argument, Alice. Weigh it well, and dispose of it once for all. If you marry me, I don’t want _that_ to contend with. I _am_ an atheist, for I _cannot_ believe in a God who leaves nine-tenths of his creatures to hopeless suffering.” She gave the other hand to his clasp, and looked up trustfully into his face. “It is a great mystery,” she said, “but I don’t think my giving you up would help you to solve it.” “If it can be solved,” he answered. “I have never tried,” she said; “my life has been so sheltered, I know almost nothing of the pain that is in the world. But you will tell me, and perhaps we may solve the mystery together.” For all answer he stooped and kissed her. Mrs. Randolph was furious,—and slightly undignified. “Very well,” she cried, “go to perdition your own way, Alice Randolph. I have tried to be a mother to you, and this is my reward. You will lose not only your money but your soul, by marrying that man.” “Be consoled, my dear madam,” returned the young man, sarcastically, “the first will be very useful to you and your children; the second can be of no benefit to any one but the owner. For my part, though I should find it hard to justify myself in holding property under the present régime, I am not exactly a beggar. My practice is a good one, and I can maintain my wife in comfort, if not in luxury.” “And if your health should fail, or you should die?” sneered Mrs. Randolph. “And if Mr. Randolph’s calculations should fail, his workmen strike, and his mill burn down?” he answered coolly. “In the present state of things, Mrs. Randolph, a shade more or less of uncertainty as to the future is of very little moment. It is settled, then, Alice?” “Yes,” she said softly; then her eyes suddenly flashed, her cheeks grew crimson; she turned upon her sister with the air of a lioness defending her young.