link to such eternal life as she hoped for. He trusted that Pinkerton would not forget this.
He would provide her a new motive, then, Pinkerton said,—perhaps meaning himself,—and a new religion, if she must have one—himself again. So when she, at his motion, diffidently undertook to clothe on the phantoms which made up her "religion," Pinkerton expounded what he called the easier Western plan of salvation—seriously, too, considering that all his communications to her were touched with whimsy. This was inevitable—to Pinkerton. After all, she was quite an impossible little thing, outside of lacquer and paint. But he struck deeper than he knew; for she went secretly to the church of the missionary who served on the opposite hill, and heard the same thing, and learned, moreover, that she might adopt this new religion at any time she chose—even the eleventh hour.
She went out joyously; not to adopt his religion, it is true, but to hold it in reserve if her relatives should remain obdurate. Pinkerton, to his relief, heard no more of it.
