" she whispered. "And it is Love."

Haynerd turned and grasped her hands. "I believe it," he murmured.
"But had I not seen the proof in you, no amount of reasoning would
have convinced me." And, bowing to the little group, he went out.

"Well?" said Hitt, turning inquiringly to the doctor.

The latter raised his head. "If these things are true," he made answer
slowly, "then I shall have to recast my entire mentality, my whole
basis of thinking."

"It is just what you _must_ do, Doctor, if you would work out your
salvation," said Carmen. "Jesus said we must repent if we would be
saved. Repentance--the Greek _metanoia_--means a complete and radical
change of thought."

"But--do you mean to say that the whole world has been mistaken? That
the entire human race has been deceived for ages?"

"Why," said Hitt, "it was only in our own day, comparatively speaking,
that the human race was undeceived in regard to the world being round.
And there are thousands of human beings to-day who still believe in
witchcraft, and who worship the sun and moon, and whose lives are
wholly under the spell of superstition. Human character, a great
scientist tells us, has not changed since history began."

"But we can't revamp our thought-processes!"

"Then we must go on missing the mark, sinning, suffering, sorrowing,
and dying, over and over and over again, until we decide that we can
do so," said Hitt.

The doctor looked at Carmen and met that same smile of unbounded love
which she gave without stint to a sin-weary world.

"I--I'll come again," he said. "When? To-morrow night?"

"Yes," said Carmen, rising and coming around to him. "And," in a
whisper, "bring Pat."

CHAPTER 6

The Social Era had for many years made its weekly appearance every
Saturday morning, that its fashionable clientele might appease their
jaded appetites on the Sabbath day by nibbling at its spicy pabulum.
But, though the Ames reception had fallen on a Saturday night, the
following Friday morning found the columns of the Era still awaiting
a report of the notable affair. For Haynerd's hand seemed paralyzed.
Whenever he set his pen to the task, there loomed before him only the
scene in the little waiting room, and he could write of nothing else.
He found himself still dwelling upon the awful contrast between the
slender wisp of a girl and her mountainous opponent, as they had stood
before him; and the terrifying thoughts of what was sure to follow in