Mr Raymond's voice was very solemn: "`So hast thou also them that hold the doctrine of the Nicolaitanes, _which thing I hate_.' `Turning the grace of our God into lasciviousness.' Antinomianism is the name of it. It has existed in the Church of God from a date, you see, earlier than the close of the inspired canon. Essentially the same thing survives in the Popish Church, under the name of mortal and venial sins; and it creeps sooner or later into every denomination, in its robes of an angel of light. But it belongs to the darkness. Sin! Do we know the meaning of that awful word? I believe none but God knows rightly what sin is. But he who does not know something of what sin is can have very poor ideas of the Christ who saves from sin. He does not save men in sin, but from sin: not only from penalty,--from sin. Christ is not dead, but alive. And sin is not a painted plaything, but a deadly poison. God forgive them who speak lightly of it!" I do not know what Miss Newton said to this, for at that minute I caught sight of Hatty in a corner, alone, and seized my opportunity at once. Threading my way with some difficulty among bewigged and belaced gentlemen, and ladies with long trains and fluttering fans, I reached my sister, and sat down by her. "Hatty," said I, "I hardly ever get a word with you. How long do you stay with the Crosslands?" "I do not know, Cary," she answered, looking down, and playing with her fan. "Do you know that you look very far from well?" "There are mirrors in Charles Street," she replied, with a slight curl of her lip. "Hatty, are those people kind to you?" I said, thinking I had better, like Annas, take the bull by the horns. "I suppose so. They mean to be. Let it alone, Cary; you are not old enough to interfere--hardly to understand." "I am only eighteen months younger than you," said I. "I do not wish to interfere, Hatty; but I do want to understand. Surely your own sister may be concerned if she see you looking ill and unhappy." "Do I look so, Cary?" I thought, from the tone, that Hatty was giving way a little. "You look both," I said. "I wish you would come here." "Do you wish it, Cary?" The tone now was very unlike Hatty. "Indeed I do, Hatty," said I, warmly. "I don't half believe in those people in Charles Street; and as to Amelia and Charlotte, I doubt if either of them would see anything, look how you might." "Oh, Charlotte is not to blame; thoughtlessness is her worst fault," said Hatty, still playing with her fan. "And somebody is to blame? Is it Amelia?" "I did not say so," was the answer. "No," I said, feeling disappointed; "I cannot get you to say anything. Hatty, I do wish you would trust me. Nobody here loves you except me." "You did not love me much once, Cary." "Oh, I get vexed when you tease me, that is all," said I. "But I want you to look happier, Hatty, dear." "I should not tease you much now, Cary."