“Yes, sir; I don’t doubt it; but when you bring gunpowder close to the fire to dry it, as you may think, and take every care that it doesn’t explode, you run a great risk, even with the most cautious intentions. A puff of wind down the chimney will send a spark into it, and then comes an explosion. It’s something like that when you educated and clever gentlemen begin to bring your fire near the hot inflammable minds of our ignorant lads. You don’t mean there to be any spark; you mean to get your material well dried and in good working order, so that it can be used for right and legitimate ends; but though you’re clever enough to make it dry and hot and fit for service, you can’t stop the fall of the spark that brings about the explosion, and then you call it a sad accident and deplore it as much as any but you don’t always consider the fearful risks you run of bringing about this very accident, which may perhaps recoil one day on your own head, and which has injured for life many and many a brave lad who might have lived out his days in innocence and a fair amount of happiness but for that.” Eustace stood looking down at the path with a thoughtful face. He could have brought many arguments to bear upon the old man, explaining how every good cause as yet undertaken against every existing form of evil had been marred and hindered at the outset, and indeed all through its career, by the rashness, the impetuosity, the ill-advised action of individuals; but he held his peace, and said nothing that might sound like an excuse for his own conduct. He _did_ take blame to himself in the case of Saul. He had felt again and again, whilst talking with that fiery youth, with his strong character and individuality, and his burning hatred against the ruling classes, that he was playing with edged tools. The pleasure of finding so much intelligence and sympathy in a man of the people had led him on often to speak out things which on calmer consideration he would hardly have put into words so freely. From time to time his own conscience had warned him that Saul might one day turn out an unmanageable disciple; but he had hoped his own strong influence upon him would suffice to hold in check his fiery partisan zeal, and had forgotten how quickly that influence would be removed, whilst the memory of his words, and the feelings they excited, would live on and ferment and eat into his very soul. “I am sorry,” he said at last, looking up at Abner with frank, open regret in his eyes; “I think I was wrong. I think I had better have let Saul alone. He has too much gunpowder, as you rightly call it, in his composition. I should have been warned by that and have let him alone.” This frank apology evoked a smile from Abner.