"I can hear any thing from you, my child," he answered. "Then I will
try. But I do not think I shall ever quite know my father on earth, or
be quite able to open my heart to him, until I have found my Father in
Heaven."

"Ah, my child! is it so with you? Do you fear you have not yet given
yourself to the Saviour? Give yourself now. His arms are ever open to
receive you."

"That is hardly the point, father.--Will you let me ask you any question
I please?"

"Assuredly, my child." He always spoke, though quite unconsciously, with
a little of the _ex-cathedral_ tone.

"Then tell me, father, are you just as sure of God as you are of me
standing here before you?"

She had stopped and turned, and stood looking him full in the face with
wide, troubled eyes.

Mr. Drake was silent. Hateful is the professional, contemptible is the
love of display, but in his case they floated only as vapors in the air
of a genuine soul. He was a true man, and as he could not say _yes_,
neither would he hide his _no_ in a multitude of words--at least to his
own daughter: he was not so sure of God as he was of that daughter, with
those eyes looking straight into his! Could it be that he never had
believed in God at all? The thought went through him with a great pang.
It was as if the moon grew dark above him, and the earth withered under