They went down across the lawn through the garden. The sun was shining brightly, though occasionally obscured by clouds.
"How beautiful everything is," said Annie, "even now, when the leaves are half off the trees and falling fast! At any season, the moment I get out of doors I feel new life and hope."
"What nature does for you, Miss Annie, you seem to do for others. I feel 'new life and hope' the moment I am with you."
She looked at him quickly, for she did not quite like his tone and manner. But she only said, "You must believe, as I do, in a power behind nature."
"But even you believe He works through human agencies."
"Yes, up to a certain point."
"But who can say where that point is in any experience? Miss Walton," he continued, in grave earnestness, stopping and pointing to the rustic seat where, on the previous Sabbath, he had revealed to her his evil life, "that place is sacred to me. No hallowed spot of earth to which pilgrimages are made can compare with it. You know that in some places in Europe they raise a rude cross by the roadside where a man has been murdered. Should there not be a monument where one was given life?"
As they resumed their walk, he said in a low, meaning tone, "Do you remember old Daddy Tuggar's words—'You could take the wickedest man living straight to heaven if you'd stay right by him?'"
"But he was wrong," she replied.
"Pardon me if I differ with you, and agree with him. Miss Walton, I've been in your society scarcely three weeks. You know what I was when I came. I make no great claims now, but surely if tendencies, wishes, purposes count for anything, I am very different. How can you argue me out of the consciousness that I owe it all to you?"