Any such employment, too, even if I were to obtain it, would inevitably be associated with a loss of income that would seriously cripple me in those fuller religious duties for which I was so evidently being prepared. For this at any rate had become abundantly clear to me—and indeed it was the sheet anchor by which I clung to life—that I could not but emerge from such an abyss of suffering enormously the richer in strength of character. More than ever, therefore, would it be desirable in future not only that I should be immune from financial anxiety but that I should have at my disposal a larger amount of leisure for my more sacred avocations. Indeed, if this were possible, I felt that henceforward I should be entirely freed from the necessity for money-making, and thereby liberated for the completer uplifting of all with whom I might be brought into contact. Such then were the conclusions to which I had been driven, and which I would already have communicated to Ezekiel, had the latter visited me on what Simeon has so well described as the bed of complete exhaustion. Since I had been carried from the meeting, however, to Miss Maidstone’s vehicle—it was her two brothers who had borne me home—I had neither looked upon Ezekiel’s face nor received a message from his lips; and this in spite of the fact that I had sent him six of my pamphlets for his own use and that of his sisters. I therefore decided, when I had accumulated sufficient strength—and this was not for another fortnight—to visit him in my own person, though naturally I did so with considerable reluctance. Nor can I say that I was agreeably impressed either by his reception of me or his subsequent attitude, in which I could not but detect a good deal of that arrogance lately so manifest in his character. It was quite clear, however, that the subject of my errand did not take him by surprise, and indeed he assured me, almost at once, that he had been expecting it for some days. He then remained silent with his back to his fire and continued to stare at me rather offensively. “Do you mind,” I said, “if I sit down?” “Not at all,” he replied. “You can do as you please.” I therefore did so, but so distant was his manner that it was difficult to reconcile it, as I immediately pointed out to him, either with his duty as a Xtian or his privileges as an host. “In fact, you appear to have forgotten,” I said, “though I pray I may be wrong, that I was once the means of saving your life.” He breathed unpleasantly through his right nostril. “Very possibly,” he said. “But to what end? To the deliberate ruination of the _A.D.S.U._ and all my prospects of marrying Miss Moonbeam.” “But, my dear Ezekiel,” I began. He interrupted me coldly. “I must beg you in future,” he said, “to call me Mr. Stool.” I stared at him. “Call you Mr. Stool,” I gasped, “after all these years of impassioned friendship?” He waved his hand. “I repudiate them,” he said. “I repudiate them in their entirety.”