"To what motive, then, do you ascribe her willingness?"
"She told me that she liked me better than any one else in the world," he answers, with the reluctance of one who is making a statement that he believes will not be credited by the auditor to whom it is addressed.
"My poor simple boy! and you believed her?" (with a sort of compassionate scorn).
He hesitates. "I believe that she meant what she said at the moment," he replies, doubtfully.
"If there was such perfect harmony of opinion between you, why was the engagement broken, may I ask?" she inquires, a little sharply.
No answer, except quickened breathing, and a frown slightly contracting his climate-bronzed forehead.
"Was it—oh, my dear boy! if it was so, no one can respect your scruples more than I do—was it because you were not quite sure that she was one of the Lord's people?"
"Oh, dear, no," answers the young man, quickly, with scarcely repressed impatience in his tone—"nothing of the kind. God forbid my being so presumptuously uncharitable! How am I to know who is, or who is not? All I know is that if she is not, neither am I; and I trust, mother, that you will find, by-and-bye, that they are not quite such, a scanty nation as you seem to imagine."
"A higher authority than I am has expressly designated them 'a little flock,'" says the old woman, sententiously, pursing up her mouth; "but far be it from me to wish to judge, whatever you may imply. But I am still waiting to hear what your motive was for breaking your engagement, a motive which you seem to have such an unaccountable difficulty in telling me."
He looks down, for an instant or two, biting his lips, then speaks petulantly: