“Faith in what?”
“In the nobility of my race,—in the possibility of my own improvement,—in the watchful providence of God.”
“Salome, there is much sound philosophy in the eighty-seventh and eighty-ninth maxims of cynical Rochefoucauld, ‘It is more disgraceful to distrust one’s friends than to be deceived by them. Our mistrust justifies the deceit of others.’ My opportunities have been favorable for studying various classes of men, and my own experience corroborates the truth of Montaigne’s sagacious remark, ‘Confidence in another man’s virtue is no slight evidence of a man’s own.’ Try to cultivate trust in your fellow creatures, and the bare show of faith will sometimes create worth.”
“Did Christ’s show of confidence in Judas save him from betrayal?”
“Let us hope that he was the prototype of a very limited class. You must not expect to find mankind divided into two great castes—one all angels, the other comprising hopeless demons. On the contrary, noble and most ignoble impulses alternately sway the actions and thoughts of the majority of our race; and the saint of to-day is not unfrequently tempted to become the fiend of to-morrow. Remember that the conflict with sinful promptings begins in the cradle—ends only in the coffin,—and try to be more charitable in your judgments.”
They walked a few yards in silence, and at length Salome asked,—
“Were you not kept up all of last night?”
“Yes; I was obliged to ride fifteen miles to set a dislocated shoulder.”
“Then you must be exhausted from fatigue, and unfit for watching to-night. Will you not allow me to relieve you, and take charge of Mrs. Peterson’s grandchild? I admit I am 55 very ignorant; but I will faithfully follow your directions, and I think you may venture to trust me.”
Confusion flushed her face as she made this proposition, but in the pale, pearly lustre of the summer starlight, it was not visible.