"Well, then, suppose you and I should both die to-night. I don't believe any of these things; you do, but you don't practice on your belief. Then, according to your own view, you will be lost forever; and, according to that same view, so shall I. Now, practically, what difference is there between us? So if it is really blindness, why may not one be totally blind as well as to have a little sight that keeps one all the time in the wrong way?"
"I dare say we are quite as well off," Ruth said, composedly; "only I think there is this point of difference between us. I think your position is silly. I don't see how any one who has studied Paley and Butler, and in fact any of the sciences, can think so foolish a thing as you pretend to. One doesn't like to be foolish, even if one doesn't happen to be a Christian."
"Foolish?" Marion repeated, and there was a fine glow on her face. "Don't you go and talk anything so wild as that! If there is any class of people in this world who profess to be simpletons, and act up to their professions, it is you people who believe everything and do nothing. Now just look at the thing for a minute. Suppose you say, 'There is a precipice over there, and every whiff of wind blows us nearer to it; we will surely go over if we sit here; we ought to go up on that hill; I know that is a safe place,' and yet you sit perfectly still. And suppose I say, 'I don't believe there is any such thing as a precipice, and I believe this is just as safe a place as there is anywhere,' and I sit still. Now I should like to know which of us was acting the sillier?"
"You would be," Ruth said, stoutly, "if you persisted in disbelieving what could be proved to you so clearly that no person with common sense would think of denying it."
"Humph!" said Marion, settling back; "in that case I think there would be very little chance for each to accuse the other of folly; only I confess to you just this, Ruth Erskine, if you could prove to me that there was a precipice over there, and that we were being carried toward it, and that the hill was safe, I know in my very soul that I should get up and go to that hill. I would not be such a fool as to delay, I know I wouldn't."
"You are frank," Ruth said, and her face was flushed. "I am sure I don't see why you don't make the attempt and decide for yourself, if you feel this thing so deeply. I think there ought to be a prayer-meeting on your account. If I knew Dr. Vincent I would try to have this thing turned into a regular camp-meeting time, then you would doubtless get all the help you need."
Marion laughed good-humoredly.
"Don't waste your sarcasm on me," she said, cheerily; "keep your weapons for more impressible subjects. You know I am not in the least afraid of any such arguments. I have been talking downright truth and common sense, and you know it, and are hit; that is what makes you sarcastic. Did you know that was at the bottom of most sarcasm, my dear?"
"Do hush, please. These people before us are trying hard to hear what the speaker is saying."
This was Ruth's answer; but she had had her sermon; and of all the preachers at Chautauqua, the one who had preached to her was Marion Wilbur, the infidel school-teacher! It was her use of Dr. Pierce's arrow that had thrust Ruth. She gave herself up to the thought of it all during that wonderful afternoon meeting. Very little did she hear of the speeches, save now and then a sentence more vivid than the rest; her brain was busy with new thoughts. Was it all so very queer? Did it look to others than Marion a strange way to live? Did she actually believe these things for which she had been contending? If she did, was she in very deed an idiot? It actually began to look as though she might be. She was not wild like Eurie, nor intense and emotional, like Marion; she was still and cold, and, in her way, slow; given to weighing thoughts, and acting calmly from decisions rather than from impulse. It struck her oddly enough now that, having so stoutly defended the cardinal doctrines of Christian faith, she should have no weapons except sarcasm with which to meet a bold appeal to her inconsistency.