at makes you think I know?"

"Why," said she, in a patent surprise, "'course you know. I've always
heard about you, writin' books an' all. An' that's the kind you be, too.
You're"--she paused to marshal her few words and ended in an awed
tone--"you're that way, too. When folks are in trouble, you're so sorry
it 'most kills you."

This was a blow staggering enough to hit his actual heart and stop it
for a beat. What if he should say to her: "Yes, I do care. I care when
you are hurt. I don't know about the God made man, but isn't my caring
enough for you?"

Then bitter certainties cut in and told him it wouldn't do. She had
learned her world lesson too terribly well. It would be only another
case of man's pursuing, promising--what had they promised in the past?
And after all, he thought recklessly, what did the private honor of his
testifying yes or no amount to anyway? What moral conceit! To save his
own impeccable soul by denying a woman the one consolation that would
save her reason.

"Yes, Tira," he said quietly, and did not know he had used her name,
"it's all true."

She gave a little sound, half sob, half ecstatic breath, and he saw she
had not been sure he would yield her the bright jewel she had begged of
him.

"True!" she said, in the low tone of an almost somnolently brooding
calm. "All of it! Everywhere!"

"Yes," said Raven steadily, "everywhere."

"Over there where He was born, here!" That seemed to amaze her to a
glory of belief. "Why, if He's everywhere, He's here, too."

"Yes," said Raven. He loved his task now. He was putting her sorrows to
sleep. "He's here, too."

At that moment, incredibly, it seemed to him that a difference pervaded
the place, or at least that his eyes had been opened to a something
unsuspected, dwelling in all things. Did he, his unchanged mind asked
him, actually believe what he had not believed before? No, the inner
core of him signaled back to his mind. His belief had not changed. Yet
indubitably something had happened and happened blessedly, for it
brought her peace. Tira gave a little laugh, a child's laugh of
surprised content. He glanced at her. She was looking into the fire and
the haggardness of her face had softened. It was even, under the warmth
of the flames and her own inner delight, absorbed and dreamy. And Raven
knew he must wake her, and, he hoped, without flawing the dream, to
present action.

"Now," he said, "I want you to come with me down to Nan's"-