She flung herself on her knees beside the sofa, and embraced and wept over the motionless form there, all her anger, all thought of self, forgotten in a generous and loving pity and grief.
F. Chevreuse glanced at his brother priest with a faint, sad smile. “Her heart is right,” he said. “It is always right.”
To Be Continued.
Material Faith.
Give me a God whom I can prove
By certain academic rules,
Approved by all the learned schools;
And if he fitteth not our groove,
We'll leave him for unscienced fools