all truth is
based upon the God idea. And he vows that you have attempted to dissolve
truth by detaching it from this divine origin. You speak the truth in
other words, but you are accused of blasphemously ignoring its sublime
authorship. Nor is that all. Your philosophy must have gripped him hard,
for he declares that you have an abnormally clairvoyant mind, and that "no
female intelligence" can long withstand the diabolical influence of your
heathen suggestions. Really it made my flesh creep! You might have thought
he was warning me against a snake charmer. And when I declined to be
alarmed, he locked himself up in his closet to fast and pray. This is the
worst possible symptom in his case, for he will work himself into a
frenzy, and before ever he eats or drinks he will get "called" to take
some radical stand against us.

Meanwhile, besides a growing affection for Jack, I take a factitious
interest in him because he was your daily companion for several months. I
am tempted to ask him many questions that are neither fair nor modest,
particularly as he is devoted to you, and quite willing to talk of
"Misther Towers."

"Does he ever sing, Jack?" I began last evening, as we sat alone before
the library fire.

"Nope,"--Jack is laconic, but wise far beyond his years in silent
sympathy.

"Did he often talk to you?"

"Yes, when we went for a walk."

"Tell me what about, Jackie."

"I don't know!" was the ungrateful revelation.

"You mean you have forgotten!" I insinuated.

"Never did know. He talks queer!"--I tittered and Jack wrinkled up his
face into a funny little grimace. We both knew the joke was on you.

"Did he ever mention any of his friends," I persevered.

"Nope. Once he give me your love and some things you sent,"--the little
scamp knew the direction of my curiosity!

"But did he never tell you anything about me, Jackie?"

"Never did!"--I was wounded.

"What does he like best?"--for I had made up my mind to know the worst.

"His pipe," he affirmed without hesitation.

"And when he smoked he'd lay back in his chair and stare at the rings he
made like they was somebody, and once I saw him look jolly and kiss his
hand to 'em."

"Oh! did you, Jack? then what did he do?"

"Caught me looking at him, and told me to go to bed."

"Mean thing!" I comforted. "But run along now and put the puppy to bed;
Mr. Towers was very rude to you!"

I was so happy I wished to be alone, for no man, I am persuaded