"There are different modes of procedure--but murder is murder after all!" "Certainly, but I was not aware that I had been connected with a 'procedure.'" "Men deal out slow death for gold and trust its clinking rattle to still the groans and cryings that they cause." Jean spoke reflectively, as if to herself. "In savage countries where there is no Christianity, where all is black, human life is sometimes offered as a sacrifice to gods. Here in Christian America an altar is piled high with mother hearts and manhood and immortal souls. "This sacrifice goes on unceasingly; the altar fires are never out, and the wail of the little ones and the groans of the crushed that go up from this great altar only cause this god to laugh. "This god is made of atoms. EVERY ATOM IS A MAN. "All this time the Christian men of this Christian nation stand around in a great circle, weeping and calling on a Christian's God to hasten the day when this other god shall be ground to dust, meantime mocking their God by legalizing this monstrous thing with their ballots." Mr. Allison had probably never heard a young lady talk exactly as this one talked, and yet he enjoyed it, and watched the motion of her hand as she used it to impress her words. "I am afraid I do not understand you even yet," he said, when she paused. "Do you refer to the tariff or seal fisheries or female suffrage or war or what?" "I refer to the rum power in America. That is the god I mean. The most heartless, depraved monopoly on earth, yet men and governments grovel in the dust at its feet and cringe like dogs before its power." Mr. Allison was silent, and she continued, presently, turning her face to him. "It has always seemed to me that the firm of Allison, Russell & Joy was an important part of this great iniquity; partly, I presume, because I happen to be acquainted with a family that has been utterly destroyed by that firm. Tell me truly--have they, have YOU never heard wails and cries and bitter prayers in the stillness of the night? Have you never felt the burden of your _awful_ sin?" Mr. Allison smiled. "I am sure," he said, "I have never heard any weeping or wailing that I have been aware of, and really I hope to be pardoned, but the burden that you speak of has failed to make itself felt." "Well, you will hear it some day. Even legal, licensed murder will have its reckoning time. You will see a face some day; you will hear a voice that will haunt you like the wail of a lost soul." Mr. Allison shrugged his shoulders as if in apprehension. "I hope not," he said; "but Miss Thorn, I am afraid you do not enjoy the society of a liquor dealer." "On general principles, no. And yet I have enjoyed yours very much this afternoon, you may be sure. I thank you for it, and--I am sorry that you are a 'man atom' of the great iniquity." "I am sorry that you are sorry," he answered, and then the Thorn homestead rose in view.