Dr. Stanley, after sitting a while with Dorothy, to watch the effect of a remedy given to relieve her suffering, went directly back to the city, wearing a very thoughtful face.

Upon reaching his office, and finding no one awaiting him, he picked up a book from his desk and went out again, directing his steps towards the public library.

Arriving there, he searched the catalogue and, at length, finding the title he desired, wrote the number on his card and presented his book to be exchanged.

When the wished-for volume was handed to him he opened the cover and glanced at the title page, reading therefrom, "Science and Health, with Key to the Scriptures, by Mary Baker G. Eddy." A peculiar smile, in which there may have been a trace of self- contempt, wreathed his lips as he slipped it under his arm and then made his way from the building.

He stopped at a cafe near by and partook of a light meal, after which he returned to his office and read from his book as long as daylight lasted, without once laying it aside. Then, lighting a student lamp, he became absorbed again, reading on until the clock struck ten.

"There is much I do not understand! much I cannot grasp!" he exclaimed, a note of impatience in his voice, and the perplexing work was tossed somewhat irreverently upon the table. "It so radically reverses preconceived ideas and opinions; it seems so abstruse, vague and intangible, it irritates me. And yet, in the light of what Mrs. Minturn and her daughter have told me, I believe I have caught a glimpse, here and there, of the meaning of some of its statements. It is like trying to march through a tangled wilderness," he continued, as he picked up the book again and slowly slipped the leaves through his fingers; "but I'll read the thing through, now that I have begun it, though I have a suspicion that I shall only get deeper into an impenetrable thicket."

While Phillip Stanley was thus engaged, Mrs. Seabrook was earnestly discussing the same subject with her husband. She related to him her recent conversation with her brother, also her suspicions regarding what had so almost miraculously banished Miss Reynolds' severe malady, and repeated some things which she had overheard during her brother's interview with Katherine.

Prof. Seabrook, usually so considerate and tender in all his relations with his dear ones—such a gentle man in every sense of the word—sat listening with averted face and brow heavily overcast, his finely chiseled lips compressed into an obstinate, rigid line.

"William, do let us give it a trial; it certainly could do no harm, and it might give Dorrie some relief from the pain," pleaded his wife, but studying the unsympathetic face opposite her with mingled anxiety and surprise.

There was an awkward silence when she concluded; but at length her companion observed, in a repressed tone:

"Emelie, Phillip and I have already discussed this subject."

"I know; he has told me, Will; but I thought, perhaps, after you had given the matter more consideration, in view of these recent developments, you might think more favorably of it," Mrs. Seabrook eagerly interposed.

"But I do not think more favorably of it," was the cold response.

"But why? What possible objection can you have to giving the method a trial?" queried Mrs. Seabrook and flushing with momentary indignation at his intolerant attitude. "You have eagerly welcomed and tried everything that numerous physicians have suggested and which, after years of patient experimenting, have done absolutely no good. I cannot understand why you should be so obstinately opposed to what anyone can see, can do no possible harm, even if no permanent relief is derived from it."

"I am not so sure that 'no harm' would result from it," the professor observed, in an inflexible voice.

"I wish you would explain what you mean, Will, and not hold yourself so obscurely aloof from the subject," returned his wife, with unusual spirit and an unaccustomed spark in her mild eyes. "I am not a child, to be merely told that a thing is not good for me, and consequently cannot have it. If there is a good and sufficient reason why Dorothy shall not have Christian Science treatment, I would like to know what it is. For eight years I, as well as my child, have been a martyr in a chamber of torture, and my burden is growing heavier than I can bear."

Her lips quivered and her voice broke with those last words.

Her husband reached out his hand and laid it caressingly against her face, drawing her head down upon his shoulder.

"I know it, sweetheart," he said, with tremulous tenderness, "and my own heart rebels against it every day of my life. Perhaps I have seemed arrogant in my attitude toward what you have suggested. I feel so. I am utterly intolerant of Christian Science and will have nothing to do with it."

"But why, Will? You do not state any reason. Why do you condemn it without a trial—without investigation? You know nothing about it- —-"

"I know all I wish," the man interrupted, with curling lips. "I have never mentioned the fact, but I have read the Christian Science text-book and have found it to be a conglomeration of the most absurd statements, theories and contradictions it has ever been my lot to peruse. As a matter of principle, as a Christian, I abjure its teachings, for they are diametrically opposed to my religious views; and as a D.D. and a Ph.D. I feel that I should be subjecting myself to the rankest criticism and ridicule were I to give it countenance in any way whatsoever. I do not stand alone in my attitude, by any means, for the book has been discussed in our Philosophical Association, which, as you well know, is composed of some of the brightest men and most profound thinkers in the State; and it was utterly repudiated and denounced as fallacious and un- Christian in its teachings, and calculated to do inestimable harm. The idea of an obscure woman setting herself up as a reconstructor of the religious faiths of the world! It is simply the height of presumption and absurdity," he concluded, with considerable heat.

"But when you think of it, how much better it would be if there was only 'one Lord, one faith and one baptism' in the world, instead of hundreds. How is anyone to know which is the right one?" said Mrs. Seabrook, thoughtfully. "We claim to be Presbyterians, but we can offer no proof that our creed is better than any other, while the Christian Scientists claim that their healing proves their religion to be the Christianity taught by the Master."

"Yes, they claim a great deal; but they want to overturn altogether too much for me to accept it," dryly observed her husband.

"But they maintain that it is founded on the Bible."

"True; and that is wherein it is most harmful. It is the false teaching calculated to 'deceive the very elect.' Emelie, it irritates me to talk about it; let us drop it, please," and with a frowning brow the man arose and restlessly paced the floor.

"Then you will not consent to try the healing for Dorothy?" and there was a plaintive note in the weary mother's voice which smote painfully upon the husband's ears.

"No."

That ended the conversation, and with a heavy heart Mrs. Seabrook went back to her child to take up her accustomed night vigil, but with a secret sense of injustice and rebellion such as she had seldom experienced.

That same evening, after supper, when Katherine went to her room she found Sadie dressing to go out.

The girl looked flushed and excited, a condition so at variance with her usual composure and languid manner that Katherine regarded her with surprise. She was also making a rather elaborate toilet, and she wondered where she could be going.

"Oh! honey," she exclaimed, as her chum appeared in the doorway, "don't you want to come with me?"

"Where? Is there a theater party on the tapis?" Katherine inquired, as she watched a labored effort to tie a coquettish bow at her throat.

"Oh! no; I have to go down to Madam Alberti's for my new hat. I want it for church to-morrow," Sadie explained. "I have permission, but can't go alone, you know. Annie Fletcher was going with me, but her brother has just come—so that's off."

"Why, yes; I'd like the walk," said Katherine, with animation. "But I supposed, from the 'fuss and feathers' you are putting on, that you were bound either for the theater or to make a fashionable call."

"Well—you know it doesn't get dark very early now, and one meets so many people on the street, especially on Saturday evening, one must look passable," Sadie returned, but the flush on her cheeks grew brighter while she spoke.

Katherine hastily donned her hat, and, taking a light wrap on her arm, signified her readiness to accompany her.

On their way downstairs Miss Minot stopped at Miss Williams' door.

"I've got to tell her that Annie can't go, and I am taking you in her place," she said, as she rapped for admittance.

"Of course, Miss Minturn can go if she has no special duties," Miss Williams observed, when the matter was explained to her. "And," she added, archly, "I think the change is all for the best, for when I allow two mischief-loving girls, like you and Annie, to go off by themselves, I sometimes have rather more of a sense of responsibility than is comfortable."

"Now, Miss Williams, that is rather hard on Annie and me," drawled Sadie, while the quick color flew to her face again, "though I'm sure it's a right smart compliment to Katherine. But thank you all the same for permission, and—I reckon you'll feel perfectly 'com- fortable'—you'll not be afraid there's any mischief brewing now," she concluded, demurely.

"No, indeed; I know you are in excellent hands," smiled Miss
Williams, and the two girls went on their way.

The walk "downtown" was delightful, for the evening was balmy and fragrant with unfolding flowers and foliage. Arriving at Madam Alberti's, they found her fashionable rooms filled with customers, and were obliged to wait sometime before Miss Minot could be served.

Then, when the hat was finally brought, there was something that did not quite suit her fastidious taste and had to be changed. By the time this was effected it had grown quite dark outside; but as they started out Sadie lingered by the door and looked up and down the street with an air of expectation, mingled with some anxiety, Katherine thought.

"Let us go into Neal's for a soda and some candy," Sadie at length proposed, and, as candy was also one of Katherine's weaknesses, they stepped into a confectioner's, next door, and made their purchases. While waiting for their change a young man, stylishly attired, approached Sadie and, lifting his hat, saluted her with much empressement.

Sadie smiled, blushed, and addressed him as "Mr. Willard," then introduced Katherine, who was beginning to understand some things that had puzzled her, and to feel quite uncomfortable.

They stood chatting together until their change was handed them, when they passed out of the store, Mr. Willard taking possession of Miss Minot's bandbox with an air of proprietorship which, to say the least, was suggestive.

When they reached the first corner Katherine halted.

"I suppose we will take a car, Sadie, it is getting so late," she quietly remarked.

"Oh, it is so fine, let us walk back," said the girl, appealingly.

Katherine was dismayed, particularly as Mr. Willard supplemented, affably:

"I hope you can be persuaded, Miss Minturn. It will give me great pleasure to see you safely home."

Katherine knew it would never do. It would be a rank violation of the rules, which explicitly stated that no young lady could receive attention from young men without permission direct from the principal, on penalty of expulsion.

"Thank you, Mr. Willard; but I think we will take a car," she courteously but decidedly replied.

"Oh, come now, Katharine, don't be disobliging," Sadie here interposed; "there can be no harm in our walking quietly back to the seminary together. Ned—er—Mr. Willard has met Prof. Seabrook, and it will be all right."

The slip which revealed Mr. Willard's first name, and also betrayed something of the intimacy which existed between the young couple, appalled Katherine, and confirmed her suspicions that the meeting had been previously planned, and drove her to radical measures.

She turned politely to the young man and observed:

"Mr. Willard, if we had Prof. Seabrook's permission, no doubt the walk would be very enjoyable; but since we have not, and the rules are explicit, I am sure you will appreciate our position and excuse us. There is our car. Will you kindly signal for us?"

Of course there was nothing for the gentleman to do but obey, which he did with an icy:

"Certainly, Miss Minturn, and pray pardon my intrusion."

They were obliged to wait a moment for some people to alight, and during the delay Katherine heard him say in an aside to her roommate:

"Next time, Sadie, don't bring a prude with you."

"Next time!" Katherine repeated to herself, with a, heart-bound of astonishment. These meetings, then, were of frequent occurrence, and there was no telling what regret and disgrace her friend was storing up. For herself, for it was only a question of time when she would be found out.

Of course, she could not talk the matter over with her on the car, but when they alighted and were entering the school grounds she felt she must speak a word of caution.

"Sadie, did you have an appointment to meet Mr. Willard to-night?" she inquired.

"Well, suppose I did!" was the defiant retort.

"If you did, you certainly had no right to draw me into anything of the kind," said Katherine, indignantly. "It was not an honorable thing to do."

"Well, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to give me away?" demanded the girl, tartly.

Katherine flushed.

"I have no wish to tell tales of anyone," she replied; "but, truly, I do not like what I have heard and seen to-night. Sadie, I overheard what Mr. Willard said to you just as we were getting on the car."

"Lor'! Did you? Well, of course, he didn't like it; to have all our fun spoiled and—-"

"And it proved to me that you are in the habit of meeting him clandestinely," interposed Katherine, determined to sift the affair to the bottom.

"I'm sure I don't know what business you have to meddle," spiritedly began the girl, when Katherine checked her again by saying:

"You know, Sadie, that my only thought is to save you from getting into trouble," and she laid a gentle hand upon the arm of the angry girl.

"I reckon I made a mistake asking you to go with me," Sadie observed, in a calmer tone after a moment of silence, "but—but— Katherine, I might as well own up—I'm—engaged to Ned Willard."

"Engaged! Sadie! Where did you meet him? How long have you known him?" exclaimed Katherine, aghast.

"Oh, about three months. I met him the night Mrs. Bryant gave that theater party."

"Did Mrs. Bryant introduce him to you? Was he with her party?"

"N-o; but Nellie Nixon knew him and introduced us on our way out after the play."

"Does your guardian know of your engagement?"

"No. Ned thought it would be as well not to say anything about it at present," Sadie reluctantly admitted, but cringing visibly at the question.

"Dearest," said Katherine, fondly, "I feel that I have no right to 'meddle,' as you say, in your affairs, but I do not see how you can respect or trust a man who would draw you into a secret engagement and then endanger your reputation and standing in school by insisting upon clandestine meetings. If he possessed a fine sense of honor he would go to your guardian, frankly tell him of his regard for you, and ask his permission to address you openly. What is Mr. Willard's business, Sadie?"

"I—I don't know," the girl confessed, with\ embarrassment. Then bridling, added: "Well, but I don't care shucks about that. I have money enough for both—or shall have next year, when I am twenty- one."

"I am afraid he is of the same opinion," Katherine said, to herself; but, thinking it might be unwise to dwell upon that point, made no reply.

"You are not going to tell anyone, honey," Sadie pleaded, and pausing upon the steps before entering the building. "I think it will be downright mean if you do," she added, hotly, as she saw the troubled look on her chum's face.

"Sadie, I wouldn't for the world do anything for the sake of being 'mean'; but I am sure you are doing very wrong, and will deeply regret it some day," was the grave reply.

"If you give me away it will get me into an awful scrape."

"I know it; and my greatest concern is to save you from anything of the kind. Will you stop meeting Mr. Willard on the sly?"

"Oh, Katherine, and not see him at all!" exclaimed Sadie, in a voice of dismay.

"Dear, are you so fond of him?" queried Katherine, gently.

The girl flushed from neck to brow.

"Indeed—indeed, I am," she confessed, with downcast eyes.

"Well, then, if it has gone that far he should at least allow you to respect him!" said Katherine, a thrill of indignation vibrating in her tones. "Don't go on this way, Sadie," she pleaded; "write him that you cannot meet him again in any such way; but tell him, if he will make himself known to your guardian, and get his permission to call upon you, you will receive him here."

"If I will do that, will you promise not to say anything about to- night?" demanded the girl, eagerly.

"Yes," Katherine replied, after a moment of thought; at the same time she did not feel quite satisfied with the state of affairs.

"All right; I will write Ned to-morrow and tell him," Sadie returned, with a sigh of relief as they entered the building and passed on to their room.

Before going to rest, Katherine slipped away to see Miss Reynolds and ascertain if she could do anything for her before retiring.

She found her reading, but Miss Reynolds at once laid down her book and welcomed the girl with a bright smile.

"I am all right, Kathie, and I have been having a perfect feast," she said, touching the "Science and Health" in her lap.

They spent a few minutes in social chat, then she sent Katherine away, saying she must make up the sleep she had lost the night before, and our faithful little Scientist was glad, after her busy day, to seek her couch, where she was soon sleeping peacefully and knew no more until she awoke the next morning to find the bright May sunshine flooding her room, and told herself, with a sigh of content, that it was the Sabbath, and a whole restful day of truth and love before her.

She was made happy, on descending to breakfast, to find Miss Reynolds in her accustomed seat. They exchanged smiling glances, and, later, the teacher said, in a low tone:

"Come to my room this afternoon, Kathie, if you have nothing special to do; I have more questions for you."

Katherine said she would, and, as soon as the meal was over, hastened away to prepare for church.

It was a beautiful day, and she decided to walk instead of taking a car, as usual. She reached the hall just in season to slip into a seat before the opening hymn was given out.

When she arose with the congregation to sing, she glanced around to see if there was anyone near her whom she knew. Her astonishment may be imagined when her eye fell upon Jennie Wild, just across the aisle from her.

The girl had also espied her and nodded a smiling and half-defiant recognition, which Katherine gravely returned.