Mr. Hollys rose hastily, and quitted the room without a word.
Beryl turned in astonishment to Miss Burton.
"Papa here! I did not know it. I wish I had not spoken so. Will he be angry with me, do you think?"
"I do not think so, dear; no, I am sure he cannot be angry with you," replied her governess.
There was indeed no anger in Mr. Holly's mind as he went away. Beryl's words had pricked himself sharply; but he could not feel cross with the sweet young daughter whose life was so precious to him.
He went downstairs to the library, and began to pace to and fro the room in painful thought. Yes, the child was right—he had no place in the kingdom; his life lay outside it, and till lately he had preferred that it should be thus. And yet he was not an unbeliever; he had not fallen under the blight of scepticism; he professed to believe the truths of Christianity, and his intellect did hold them true. He could admire the influence of religious faith in the lives of others. The memory of his young wife's beautiful life of faith and love was still fragrant in his mind. He had taken pains to secure for Beryl religious training; for her sake, he had rejoiced in the grace and consistency of Miss Burton's character, and he had heartily approved of the good works in which she had interested the children.
Yet all the while he had had no heart religion; he had been satisfied to worship God coldly and formally, and had felt no desire to draw near to Him as His Father, and claim the divine sonship which was his inheritance in Christ.
But now, it was different. Of late, the depths of his spirit had been stirred by sorrow and disappointment, followed swiftly by the sudden, appalling dread of losing the child of his love. When in the anguish of suspense, he had tried to ask God to spare Beryl's life, he had found it impossible to pray. What right had he to expect that he would be heard, when he had never cared to pray before, but had fancied himself sufficient to meet unaided all that life might bring forth?
As he walked up and down the library, Guy Hollys owned to himself that he would gladly share his child's simple faith, and gain an entrance into that kingdom of which his child loved to think. But could he enter there? Was it for such as he, this kingdom of God?
As he thought thus, his eyes fell on a book high up on one of the bookshelves. It was his wife's Bible, which he kept sacredly for her sake, but which he seldom opened. Now, however, he lifted it down, wiped the dust from its gilt edges, and began to turn over the leaves.