“Why, mother!” he murmured, soothingly--“you should not weep! Can you not trust me? This woman, Diana May, is a stranger, and nothing to you. Certainly she is a kind, bright creature, with a great many undeveloped gifts of brain and character, which make her all the more useful to me. I give her as much chance as I give myself. If I let her alone,--that is to say, if I ignore all the reasons for which I engaged her, and allow her to become a mere secretary, or your domestic companion,--she goes on in the usual way of a woman of her years,--withering slowly--sinking deeper in the ruts of care, and fading into a nonentity for whom life is scarcely worth the living. On the other hand, if I continue my work upon her----” “But _what_ work?” asked his mother, anxiously. “What result do you expect?” He rose from his kneeling attitude, and straightened himself to his full height, lifting his head with an unconscious air of defiance and pride. “I expect Nature to render me obedience!” he said. “I expect the surrender of the Flaming Sword! It ‘turns every way to keep the way of the Tree of Life’--but the hilt must be given into _my_ hand!” “Féodor! Oh, my son! Such arrogance is blasphemy!” “Blasphemy? Mother, you wrong yourself and me by the thought! Blasphemy is a lie to God, like the utterance of the ‘Credo’ by people who do _not_ believe,--but there is no blasphemy in searching for a truth as part of God’s mind, and devoutly accepting it _when_ found! The priest who tells his congregation that God is to be pleased or pacified by sufficient money in the collection plate blasphemes,--but I who most humbly adore His unspeakable Beneficence in placing the means of health and life in our hands, and who seek to use those means intelligently, do _not_ blaspheme! I praise God with all my heart,--I believe in Him with all my soul!” His attitude at the moment was superb; his expression as of one inspired. His mother looked at him fondly, but the tears were still in her eyes. “Féodor,” she said at last tremulously--“I--I have grown fond of Diana. I shall not be able to look on and see her suffer!” He bent his brows upon her almost sternly. “When you _do_ see her suffer it will be time to speak”--he answered--“Not before! And whatever else you see, having no connection with ‘suffering’ in any way, you must allow to pass without comment or inquiry. You love me, I know,--well, you will never prove your love for me more than by consenting to this. If at any moment you can tell me that Diana May is unhappy or in pain, I promise you I will do my best to spare her. But if nothing of this sort happens I rely on your silence and discretion. May I do so?” She inclined her head gently. “You may!” He took her hand and kissed its soft, finely wrinkled whiteness.