For she had told Gifford how she had tried to console her cousin.
"It makes me hate John Ward more than ever!" she said, striking her hands passionately together.

"Oh, Giff, isn't it awful ?" "Poor fellow!" said the young man, deeply moved, "poor Ward! It is worse for him than it is for Helen." "Oh, how can you say so ?" she cried; "but I'm sure I hope it is!" "He won't weaken," Gifford went on slowly.

"He will stand like a rock for what he believes is right, and he will be more apt to believe it is right if it nearly kills him." "I wish it would! And Helen, poor darling, thinks he loves her.

What sort of love does he call this ?" "Oh, it is love," Gifford answered; "and I tell you, Lois, it is a height of love that is ideal,--it is the measure of Ward's soul." They were both so much in earnest, there was not the slightest self-consciousness in this talk of love, even though Gifford added, "I never knew a man capable of such devotion, and there are few women like Helen, who could inspire it." "But, Giff," Lois said, not caring to discuss John Ward's character, "did you suppose anybody could be so narrow?
Think how bigoted he is! And nobody believes in hell now as he does." "I don't know about that, Lois," Gifford responded slowly.

"Lots of people do, only they don't live up to their belief.