“So I am,” he said, frankly, “when I see the present injustice, the iniquitous laws and combinations that leave these people so little chance. They are ignorant, and expect the impossible; but they are right in many things, and I go with them. But my motive is not theirs. I hope not. There is no hope except in a spiritual life. Materialism down at the bottom of society is no better than materialism at the top. Do you know,” he went on, with increased warmth, “that pessimism is rather the rule over that side, and that many of those who labor most among the poor have the least hope of ever making things substantially better?” “But such unselfish people as Dr. Leigh do a great deal of good,” Edith suggested. “Yes,” he said reflecting--“yes, I have no doubt. I don't understand it. She is not hopeful. She sees nothing beyond. I don't know what keeps her up.” “Love of humanity, perhaps.” “I wish the phrase had never been invented. Religion of humanity! The work is to save the souls of those people.” “But,” said Edith, with a flush of earnestness “but, Father Damon, isn't human love the greatest power to save?” The priest looked at the girl. His face softened, and he said, more gently, “I don't know. Of the soul, yes. But human love is so apt to stand in the way of the higher life.” In her soul Edith resented this as an ascetic and priestly view; but she knew his devotion to that humanity which he in vain tried to eliminate from his austere life, and she turned the talk lightly by saying, “Ah, that is your theory. But I am coming over soon, and shall expect you and Dr. Leigh to take me about.”