“Yet you urge her to do so!”
“You mistake. I leave her to decide for herself.”
“Harry would not refuse his consent if it were not for you,” interposed Alice. “It is really you who oppose us, Jennie.”
“And have I not good cause?” cried Mrs. Randolph. “Would your father himself have consented to your marriage with an infidel, an atheist?”
Alice Randolph grew pale, then flushed deeply as she hesitated to reply, while her sister looked on, in her turn triumphantly.
A sparkle came into the blue eyes of her lover as they searched hers. “That,” he said, “is a strong argument, Alice. Weigh it well, and dispose of it once for all. If you marry me, I don’t want that to contend with. I am an atheist, for I cannot believe in a God who leaves nine-tenths of his creatures to hopeless suffering.”
She gave the other hand to his clasp, and looked up trustfully into his face.
“It is a great mystery,” she said, “but I don’t think my giving you up would help you to solve it.”
“If it can be solved,” he answered.
“I have never tried,” she said; “my life has been so sheltered, I know almost nothing of the pain that is in the world. But you will tell me, and perhaps we may solve the mystery together.”