"Damned—hopelessly, and for all eternity," repeated Grismer with a slight snap of his jaw; "—she and her children, and her children’s children——" "What!" "—The sins of the parents that are borne through generations!" "Nonsense! That is Old Testament bosh——" "Pardon!" said Grismer, with a pained forbearance. "It is the creed of those who worship and believe the truth as taught in the church of which I am a member." "Oh, I beg your pardon." "Granted," said Grismer sadly. He sat caressing his jaw in silence for a while, then: "Her name was Jessie Grismer. She—ah—assumed the name of Conway.... God did not bless the unholy union. There was a daughter, Laura. A certain Harry Quest, the profligate, wasted son of that good man, the Reverend Anthony Quest, married this girl, Laura Conway.... God, mindful of His wrath, still punished the seed of my sinful sister, even until the second generation.... Stephanie Quest is their daughter." "Good heavens, Grismer! I can’t understand that you, knowing this, have not done something——" "Why? Am I to presume to interfere with God’s purpose? Am I to question the righteousness of His wrath?" "But—she is the little grandchild of your own sister!——" "A sister utterly cut off from among us! A sister dead to us—a soul eternally lost and to be eternally forgotten." "Is that your—_creed_—Grismer?" "It is." "Oh. I thought that sort of—I mean, I thought such creeds were out of date—old-fashioned——" "God," said Chiltern Grismer patiently, "is old-fashioned, I believe—m-m-m’yes—very old fashioned, Cleland. But His purposes are terrible, and His wrath is a living thing to those who have the fear of God within their hearts." "Oh. Well, I’m sorry, but I really can’t be afraid of God. If I were, I’d doubt Him, Grismer.... Come; may I have the little girl?" "Do you desire her to abide under your roof after what you have learned?" "Why, Grismer, I’d travel all the way to hell to get her now, if any of your creed had managed to send her there. Come; I’ve seen the child. It may be a risk, as you say. In fact, it can’t help being a risk, Grismer. But—I want her. May I have her?" "M-m-m——" he touched a bell and a clerk appeared. Then he turned to Cleland. "Would you be good enough to see our Mr. Bunce? I thank you. Good afternoon! I am happy to have conversed again with my old friend, John Cleland,—m-m-m’yes, my friend of many years." An hour later John Cleland left "our" Mr. Bunce, armed with proper authority to begin necessary legal proceedings. Talking it over with Brinton, his attorney, that evening, he related the amazing conversation between himself and Chiltern Grismer. Brinton laughed: "It isn’t religious bigotry; it’s just stinginess. Grismer is the meanest man on Manhattan Island. Didn’t you know it?" "No. I don’t know him well—though I’ve been acquainted with him for a long while. But I don’t see how he can be stingy." "Why?" "Well, he’s interested in charity——"