He went to see her as a friend. As before, she received him with perfect self-possession, answered his questions quietly, and assured him that her own health caused her no anxiety. Hamlin thought of a chapel standing by itself upon a high hill near Abbotsbury, in perfect condition without, stripped within, an empty and deserted temple. Presently Fancy came in, and Mrs. Yellam went out. After the first greeting, Fancy exclaimed eagerly: "I know that Alfred will come back. I feel it here." She touched her bosom. He perceived, with poignant regret, the ravages wrought by suspense. But this, he soon discovered, was not due to apprehension concerning herself. She was worrying because Alfred would not get enough to eat. She talked confidently of his escape from bondage. Alfred was a man of resource, quick to seize opportunity. Dozens had got through to Holland. Why not he? Then she spoke of the war. What did it all mean, this never-ending slaughter? Was God angry with the world? Hamlin felt more at ease with this softer specimen of womanhood, who had served him faithfully. He admitted frankly, despite the evidence of the Old Testament, that he could not conceive of Omnipotence as "angry." Then he appealed to her imagination, evoking out of his own hopes and hypotheses a new world of nations, linked together by a nobler and wider humanity, poorer in material things, richer in faith and charity. He sketched for her prehistoric man concerned only with self-preservation. He passed from this ape-man to his successor informed by love of his own family. From him again to the chief concerned with the welfare of his tribe. And thence to the monarch and his nation. "We must come, sooner or later, to Universal Brotherhood. That, I think, Fancy, may come sooner because of this war. The gain to those who are not yet born may be ten thousand times greater than our loss." Her pale cheeks flushed. "I'd like to think that." She paused, adding modestly: "Although my thoughts don't matter." "But they do," he hastened to say. "This war is forcing people to think, who have never thought before. Perhaps we preachers and teachers have been unwise in asking others to accept our thoughts, instead of encouraging them to think for themselves. Don't be afraid of thinking things out. And when it comes to matters of religion, of faith...." He paused, trying to find simple words, struck by the intensity of her glance, knowing that what he might say would be pondered over by a quick intelligence. "Yes, sir----?" "There would seem to be two kinds of faith, Fancy; the faith that falls like the dew from heaven upon some little children, a free gift from God; and the faith which we have to work for, and suffer for, and fight for with every fibre of our being. I have had to work for my faith; I have had to dig down and down till I came at last to some rock upon which I could stand. I could hardly bear the cruelty of these times, if I had not found that rock."