"We shall," said Hugh.
"We must!" said the bishop; "we must beseech God for a spiritual outpouring. We have on this boat the stranger of our own land and the sick of our own tongue: the stranger to grace and the sick in soul, who may be eternally lost before this boat has finished her trip; and as much as the soul's worth outweighs the body's is it our first duty to help them get religion!"
With her curls lowered nearly to the table Ramsey—ah, me!—laughed. Her notes were as light as a perfume, but to the bishop all perfumes were heavy. He turned to the actor. "Isn't that so, brother?"
"Oh, bishop, you know a lot better than I do."
"He doesn't," tinkled Ramsey, and, as the bishop swung back to her—"Do you?" she ingratiatingly challenged him. "No, you don't! You know you don't!"
The company would have laughed with her if only to save their face, and when he made a very bright retort they laughed the heartier. They rose with Hugh. Ramsey said she wished she knew again how her brother was, and Hugh sent his servant to inquire. As all loitered aft, the bishop held them together a moment more.
"You don't object to such a meeting?" he asked Hugh.
"Not if you don't alarm or distress any one. The doctor forbids that." While Hugh so replied, the circle was joined by the commodore. The bishop flared:
"Doctors always forbid! How can we exhort sinners without alarming or distressing them?"
Hugh's answer was overprompt: "I don't know, sir."