At this Robinson, with a wild and furious gesture, waved him to the door and turned his face to the wall; then this refined gentleman bowed his head, as much as to say you shall be master of this apartment and dismiss any one you do not like, and went gently away with a little sigh. And the last that he saw was Robinson trembling with averted face and eyes bent down. Outside he met Evans, who said to him half bluntly half respectfully, “I don't like to see you going into that cell, sir; the man is not to be trusted. He is very strange.” “What do you mean? do you fear for his reason?” “Why not, sir? We have sent a pretty many to the lunatic asylum since I was a warder here.” “Ah!” “And some have broke prison a shorter way than that,” said the man very gloomily. The chaplain groaned--and looked at the speaker with an expression of terror. Evans noticed it and said gravely: “You should not have come to such place as this, sir; you are not fit for it.” “Why am I not fit for it?” “Too good for it, sir.” “You talk foolishly, Mr. Evans. In the first place, 'too good' is a ludicrous combination of language, in the next the worse a place is the more need of somebody being good in it to make it better. But I suppose you are one of those who think that evil is naturally stronger than good. Delusion springs from this, that the wicked are in earnest and the good are lukewarm. Good is stronger than evil. A single really good man in an ill place is like a little yeast in a gallon of dough; it can leaven the mass. If St. Paul or even George Whitfield had been in Lot's place all those years there would have been more than fifty good men in Sodom; but this is out of place. I want you to give me the benefit of your experience, Evans. When I went to Robinson and spoke kindly to him he trembled all over. What on earth does that mean?” “Trembled, did he, and never spoke?” “Yes!--Well?” “I'm thinking, sir! I'm thinking. You didn't touch him?” “Touch him, no; what should I touch him for?” “Well, don't do it, sir. And don't go near him. You have had an escape, you have. He was in two minds about pitching into you.” “You think it was rage! Humph! it did not give me that impression.” “Sir, did you ever go to pat a strange dog?” “I have done myself that honor.” “Well, if he wags his tail you know it is all right; but say he puts his tail between his legs, what will he do if you pat him?” “Bite me. Experto crede.” “No! if you are ever so expert he will bite you or try. Now putting of his tail between his legs, that passes for a sign of fear in a dog, all one as trembling does in a man. Do you see what I am driving at?” “Yes.” “Then you had better leave the spiteful brute to himself?” “No! that would be to condemn him to the worst companion he can have.” “But if he should pitch into you, sir?” “Then he will pitch into a man twice as strong as himself, and a pupil of Bendigo. Don't be silly, Evans.” SUNDAY.