"Oh, it is quite true, Louise, it _is_ a Christian land--and more, it is the most Christian portion of a Christian land, because the South is entirely orthodox; only in the North will you find a majority of skeptics, atheists, and agnostics. Though they may be scarcely conscious of it themselves, it is because of their independent heterodox tendencies that they are marching today by thousands to war against a slavery not their own--the most righteous motive for a war in the world's history; but it cannot be denied that they are making war against an eminently Christian institution." And she smiled across at Louise, whose philosophy did not extend to the intricacies of such questions. "I don't understand even half the reasons back of the war," she confessed, "but the thing I do understand is that the black man is likely to have a chance for freedom if the North wins, and that's the one question to me. Miss Evilena said yesterday it was all a turmoil got up by Yankee politicians who will fill their pockets by it." "Oh, that was after Judge Clarkson's call; she only quoted him in that, and he is right in a way," she added; "there is a great deal of political jugglery there without a vestige of patriotism in it, but they do not in the least represent the great heart of the people of the North; _they_ are essentially humanitarians. So you see I weigh all this, with my head, not my heart," she added, quizzically, "and having done so--having chosen my part--I can't turn back in the face of the enemy, even when met by smiles, though I confess they are hard weapons to face. It is a battle where the end to be gained justifies the methods used." "_Ma belle_, Marquise," murmured the girl, in the untranslatable caress of voice and eyes. "Sometimes I grow afraid, and you scatter the fear by your own fearlessness. Sometimes I grow weak, and you strengthen me with reasons, reasons, reasons!" "That is because the heart is not allowed to hamper the head." "Oh, you tease me. You speak to me like a guardian angel of my people; your voice is like a trumpet, it stirs echoes in my heart, and the next minute you laugh as though it were all a play, and I were a child to be amused." "'And each man in his time plays many parts,'" quoted Judithe, thoughtfully, then with a mocking glance she added: "But not so many as women do." "There--that is what I mean. One moment you are all seriousness and the next--" "But, my child, it is criminal to be serious all the time; it kills the real life and leads to melancholia. You would grow morbid through your fears if I did not laugh at them sometimes, and it would never--never do for me to approve them." She touched the girl's hand softly with her own and looked at her with a certain affectionate chiding.