“It is not that,” said John. “I am sure you are not the one to bid a man forsake his duty that he might rise in the world. If I were as sure about everything I ought to believe as--as my father is, I should go into the Church joyfully to-morrow.” “Should you?” said Kate, feeling chilled in spite of herself. “I should; and you would approve me for doing so, I know,” he said, earnestly. “But don’t think me worse than I am, Miss Crediton. I am not a sceptic nor an infidel, that you should draw away from me. Yes, you did, ever so little--but if it had only been a hair-breadth, I should have felt it. It is not so much that I doubt--but I can’t feel sure of things. My father is sure of everything; that is the superiority of the older generations. They knew what they believed, and so they were ready to go to the stake for it----” “Or send other people to the stake,” said Kate. The conversation was getting so dreadfully serious that she turned it where she could to the side of laughter; but it was not possible in this case. “Yes, I know,” he said, softly, altogether ignoring her lighter tone; “the one thing implies the other. I acknowledge it does; we are such confused creatures. But as for me, I could neither die for my belief nor make any one else die. I don’t feel sure. I say to myself, how do you know he is wrong and you are right? How do I know? But you see my father knows; and most of the old people in the village are just as certain as he. Is it because we are young, I wonder?” said John. “Oh, don’t speak like that--pray don’t. Why should it be because we are young?” “That I can’t tell,” said John, in the darkness. “It might be out of opposition, perhaps, because they are so sure--so sure--cruelly sure, I often think. But when a man has to teach others, I suppose that is how he ought to be; and my very soul shrinks, Miss Crediton----” “Yes?” “You will not say anything to my mother? She has brought me up for it, and set her heart on it, and I would not fail her for the world.” “But, Mr John,” said Kate, “I don’t understand; if you are not a--I mean, if you don’t believe--the Bible--should you be a clergyman for any other reason? Indeed I don’t understand.” “No,” he said, vehemently; “you are right and I am wrong. I ought not, I know. But then I am not sure that I don’t believe. I think I do. I believe men must be taught to serve God. I believe that He comforts them in their distress. You are too true, too straightforward, too innocent to know. I believe and I don’t believe. But the thing is, how can I teach, how can I pronounce with authority, not being sure?--that is what stops me.” Kate stopped too, being perplexed. “I don’t like the thought of your being a clergyman,” she said, with what would have been, could he have seen it, a pleading look up into his face. And then a long sigh came from John’s breast. She heard that, but she did not know that he shook his head as well; and in her ignorance she went on.