"
"And what is that?"
"Turn a saint like him."
"And why should you be afraid of that?"
"Well, you see, I'm not the stuff that saints--good saints, I mean, are
made of; and rather than not be a good one, if I once set about it, I
would, saving your presence, be the devil himself."
Hester laughed, yet with some self-accusation.
"I think," she said softly, "one day you will be as good a saint as love
can wish you to be."
"Give me time; give me time, I beg," cried the major, wiping his
forehead, and evidently in some perturbation. "I would not willingly
begin anything I should disgrace, for that would be to disgrace myself,
and I never had any will to that, though the old ladies of our village
used to say I was born without any shame. But the main cause of my
unpopularity was that I hated humbug--and I do hate humbug, cousin
Hester, and shall hate it till I die--and so want to steer clear of it."
"I hate it, I hope, as much as you do, major Marvel," responded Hester.
"But, whatever it may be mixed up with, what is true, you know, cannot
be humbug, and what is not true cannot be anything else than humbug.
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