Mr. Yorke drew himself up. "Perhaps you are not aware that my niece, Miss Edith Yorke, is a Catholic," he said in his stateliest manner.
Edith, standing in a window near, had not made a sound; but she looked at the minister, and fired at him two shots out of her two eyes. He in turn raised himself with an offended air at Mr. Yorke's reproof.
"I was certainly not aware that your sympathies were with the papists, sir," he said.
"Neither are they," was the cold reply. "But I profess to be a gentleman, and I try to be a Christian. One of my principles is never to insult the religious beliefs of another."
"But," objected the minister, stifling his anger, "if you never attack their errors, you lose the chance of enlightening them."
"Doctor," Mr. Yorke said with a slight laugh, "I don't believe you can ever enlighten a man's mind by pounding a hole in his head."
And so they dropped that part of the subject. But Mr. Yorke thought it best to define his own position, and thus prevent future mistakes.
"I believe in God," he said. "A man is a fool who does not. And I believe that the Bible was written by men inspired by him. But there is no one thing in it for the truth of which I would answer with my life. It is the old fable of the divinity visiting earth wrapped in a cloud. Somewhere hidden in the Bible is the truth, but I see it as in a glass darkly. I think as little about it as possible. To study would be to entangle myself in a labyrinth. It is natural and necessary for man to worship; but it is neither natural nor reasonable for him to comprehend what he worships. To take in the divine, your brain must crack."
The minister perceived that argument was useless, and shortly after took leave.