held it, and, lying so, with his hand clasped in both of

hers, she fell asleep.

When the nurse returned he released himself gently from her grasp and went back down-stairs. He glanced at the clock in the hall and saw that it was after nine. A deskful of neglected work awaited him in his study and he felt that he must try to dispose of it. At that moment he heard the door-bell ring, and, knowing that the one young and inexperienced but inexpensive maid now in their employ was still out, he went, himself, to answer it. He found Mary Bradley there. He greeted her cordially and ushered her into the parlor, the shades of which had not yet been drawn. He turned on the lights and placed a chair for her, for he saw, by her face, that she was weary and depressed.

"I had no right to come," she said breathlessly, "but I wanted——"

"Yes, you had a right to come," he interrupted her. "I do not know your errand, but I am glad you came. There are some things I want to know that I believe you can tell me."

In her effort to fathom his meaning she forgot her errand.

"What are they?" she inquired.

"Will you tell me this?" he asked. "I have been thinking about it all day. You know I have been trying to bring religion into the lives of the men and women who work, and you see what a dismal failure I have made of it. What has been the matter? Did I go about it in the wrong way? You have been a working woman; surely you can tell me."

"The fault has been theirs, Mr. Farrar, not yours."

"But what blunder did I commit that these people should repudiate both me and my religion? I cannot understand it."

"You committed no blunder. They simply did not want religion."

"Why did they not want it?"