CHAPTER NINETEENTH.
"Let us go back again mother, Oh, take me home to die." "And so, Isa, my uncle's predictions that your popish teachers would violate their promise not to meddle with your faith, have proved only too true," said Calhoun Conly, stepping forward, as Mr.Daly finished his last quotation from the Scriptures.
In the heat of their discussion, neither the minister nor Isadore had noticed his entrance, but he had been standing there, an interested listener, long enough to learn the sad fact of his sister's perversion.
"They only did their duty, and I shall not have them blamed for it," she said, haughtily.
"They richly deserve blame, and you cannot prevent it from being given them," he answered firmly, and with flashing eyes.

"I have come, by my mother's request, to take you and Virginia home, inviting Miss Reed to accompany us." "I am ready," said Isadore, rising, the others doing likewise.
"But you will stay to tea ?" Violet said.

"Cal, you are not in too great haste for that ?" "I'm afraid I am, little cousin," he answered with a smile of acknowledgment of her hospitality.

"I must meet a gentleman on business, half an hour from now." Vi expressed her regrets, and ran after the girls, who had already left the room to prepare for their drive.
They seemed in haste to get away.
"We've had enough of Mr.Daly's prosing about religion," said Virginia.
"I'm sick of it," chimed in Miss Reed, "what difference does it make what you believe, if you're only sincere and live right ?" "'With the heart man believeth unto righteousness,'" said Violet; "and 'the just shall live by faith.'" "You're an apt pupil," sneered Virginia.
"It is mamma's doing that my memory is stored with texts," returned the child, reddening.
Isadore was silent and gloomy, and took leave of her young cousin so coldly, as to quite sadden her sensitive spirit.
Violet had enjoyed being made much of by Isa, who was a beautiful and brilliant young lady, and this sudden change in her manner was far from pleasant.

Still the pain it gave her was greatly overbalanced by the relief of having her perplexities removed, her doubts set at rest.
Standing on the veranda, she watched the carriage as it rolled away down the avenue, then hailed with delight a horseman who came galloping up, alighted and giving the bridle to Solon, turned to her with open arms, and a smile that proclaimed him the bearer of good tidings, before he uttered a word.
"Grandpa," she cried, springing to his embrace, "Oh, is Lily better ?" "Yes," he said, caressing her, then turning to greet Rosie and the boys, who had come running at the sound of his voice.