But of the tenor of these thoughts he said nothing; yet Mrs. Caird was satisfied. If he had not read the lines, she knew he would have told her so, and, having read them, they could be left without discussion. He was in a less moody spirit all the rest of the week, and spoke to her several times of the hopeless discouragement involved in Comte's scheme of "supreme religion," a mere possibility of posthumous though unconscious "incorporation with the _Grand Être_ himself," said he. "Well, we are not on holy ground with Comte, Ian, and we need not take off our shoes," answered Mrs. Caird. "This _Grand Être_, this Great Being, is made up of little beings--yourself and I for instance." "And yet, Jessy, Comte does not think all men worthy even of this honor. Vast numbers will remain in a parasitic state on this Grand Being--really burdens on him, Comte says." "O Ian! What a poor unhappy God! Put your thoughts on the first ten words in Genesis. Consider their infinite sublimity and simplicity. In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. This God is our God, and He has been, and will be our dwelling place in, and for, all generations, _Our Father_! The weakest souls are not parasites or burdens to Him. Like a father He pities them." "You are relying on the Bible, Jessy. It does not enter into Comte's scheme, and indeed what is called scientific religion discredits the Book generally." "The Bible was not printed yesterday, Ian. Its assailants come and go, come and go, but it stands unmoved forever. With what new weapons can it be attacked? You told me yesterday that Strauss thought he had abolished Paul, and that Ewald answered there was nothing new in Strauss. As far as I can see, the giants of unbelief slay each other, while the Bible goes on to blend itself with the thought and speech of every land under the sun." Such conversations became frequent between the Minister and his sister. He appeared to provoke and enjoy them. And he looked with a kind curiosity at this woman who had sat nearly twenty years on his hearth, nursing his children, ordering his household, sewing, knitting, telling fairy tales, and yet pondering in her heart the highest questions of time and eternity. The facts violated all his conceptions of women, and one day, after a very vivid illustration of this kind, he said softly to himself, yet with intense conviction: "Women are inscrutable creatures! I doubt if I know anything about them." And perhaps these very words were "the call" for the wider and sadder knowledge that awaited him.