"Punishment there is, undoubtedly, but it has seemed to me that we are sufficiently punished here for all we do that is wrong. We don't intend to do wrong, Araminta—we get tired, and things and people worry us, and we are unjust. We are like children afraid in the dark; we live in a world of doubting, we are made the slaves of our own fears, and so we shirk."
"But the burning," said Araminta, wiping her eyes. "Is nobody ever to be burned?"
"The God I worship," answered Thorpe, passionately, "never could be cruel, but there are many gods, it seems, and many strange beliefs. Listen, Araminta. Whom do you love most?"
"Aunt Hitty?" she questioned.
"No, you don't have to say that if it isn't so. You can be honest with me. Who, of all the world, is nearest to you? Whom would you choose to be with you always, if you could have only one?"
"Doctor Ralph!" cried Araminta, her eyes shining.
"I thought so," replied Thorpe. "I don't know that I blame you. Now suppose Doctor Ralph did things that hurt you; that there was continual misunderstanding and distrust. Suppose he wronged you, cruelly, and apparently did everything he could to distress you and make you miserable. Could you condemn him to a lake of fire?"
"Why, no!" she cried. "I'd know he never meant to do it!"
"Suppose you knew he meant it?" persisted Thorpe, looking at her keenly.
"Then," said Araminta, tenderly, "I'd feel very, very sorry."