"But the fact of the promise and its value are the very points on which I
am doubtful," I answered.

He shuddered. "Pray, pray," he said. "Father, forgive her, for she knows
not what she says."

It was in vain I urged that I had everything to gain and nothing to lose
by following his directions, but that it seemed to me that fidelity to
truth forbade a pretended acceptance of that which was not believed.

"Everything to lose? Yes, indeed. You will be lost for time and lost for
eternity."

"Lost or not," I rejoined, "I must and will try to find out what is true,
and I will not believe till I am sure."

"You have no right to make terms with God," he answered, "as to what you
will believe and what you will not believe. You are full of intellectual
pride."

I sighed hopelessly. Little feeling of pride was there in me just then,
and I felt that in this rigid unyielding dogmatism there was no
comprehension of my difficulties, no help for me in my strugglings. I
rose and, thanking him for his courtesy, said that I would not waste his
time further, that I must go home and just face the difficulties out,
openly leaving the Church and taking the consequences. Then for the first
time his serenity was ruffled.

"I forbid you to speak of your disbelief," he cried. "I forbid you to