The Doctor's intolerant eye kindled. "Humph! So that's your creed! Not Pantheism. _Ego sum_. Of course you go on with the conjugation: _I have been, I shall be_. I,--that covers the whole ground, creation, redemption, and commands the hereafter?" "It does so," said Holmes, coolly. "And this wretched huckster carries her deity about her,--her self-existent soul? How, in God's name, is her life to set it free?" Holmes said nothing. The coarse sneer could not be answered. Men with pale faces and heavy jaws like his do not carry their religion on their tongue's end; their creeds leave them only in the slow oozing life-blood, false as the creeds may be. Knowles went on hotly, half to himself, seizing on the new idea fiercely, as men and women do who are yet groping for the truth of life. "What is it your Novalis says? 'The true Shechinah is man.' You know no higher God? Pooh! the idea is old enough; it began with Eve. It works slowly, Holmes. In six thousand years, taking humanity as one, this self-existent soul should have clothed itself with a freer, royaller garment than poor Lois's body,--or mine," he added, bitterly. "It works slowly," said the other, quietly. "Faster soon, in America. There are yet many ills of life for the divinity within to conquer." "And Lois and the swarming mass yonder in those dens? It is late for them to begin the fight?" "Endurance is enough for them here. Their religions teach them that they could not bear the truth. One does not put a weapon into the hands of a man dying of the fetor and hunger of the siege." "But what will this life, or the lives to come, give to you champions who know the truth?" "Nothing but victory," he said, in a low tone, looking away. Knowles looked at the pale strength of the iron face. "God help you, Stephen!" he broke out, his shallow jeering falling off. "For there _is_ a God higher than we. The ills of life you mean to conquer will teach it to you, Holmes. You'll find the Something above yourself, if it's only to curse Him and die." Holmes did not smile at the old man's heat,--walked gravely, steadily. There was a short silence. The old man put his hand gently on the other's arm. "Stephen," he hesitated, "you're a stronger man than I. I know what you are; I've watched you from a boy. But you're wrong here. I'm an old man. There's not much I know in life,--enough to madden me. But I do know there's something stronger,--some God outside of the mean devil they call 'Me.' You'll learn it, boy. There's an old story of a man like you and the rest of your sect, and of the vile, mean, crawling things that God sent to bring him down. There are such things yet. Mean passions in your divine soul, low, selfish things, that will get the better of you, show you what you are. You'll do all that man can do. But they are coming, Stephen Holmes! they're coming!"