“George! You can have no music in your soul! Science is such a little thing, if you could only see.”
“Show me a bigger, sir.”
“Faith.”
“In what?”
“In what has been revealed to us.”
“Ah! There it is again! By whom—how?
“By God Himself—through our Lord.”
A faint flush rose in Laird's yellow face, and his eyes brightened.
“Christ,” he said; “if He existed, which some people, as you know, doubt, was a very beautiful character; there have been others. But to ask us to believe in His supernaturalness or divinity at this time of day is to ask us to walk through the world blindfold. And that's what you do, don't you?”
Again Pierson looked at his daughter's face. She was standing quite still, with her eyes fixed on her husband. Somehow he was aware that all these words of the sick man's were for her benefit. Anger, and a sort of despair rose within him, and he said painfully: