Mr. Kestern was on his feet, two thousand years of Christianity stripped from him, the spirit of the Old Testament glowing in his face. "What saith the Scripture?" he cried. "'Cursed be he that setteth light by his father or his mother.' 'Cursed be he that maketh the blind to wander out of the way.' Or our Master Himself: 'He that loveth child more than me is not worthy of me.' And you, Paul, have done both these things. My grey hairs you would bring down in sorrow to the grave, but that is not enough. Here, into this very parish of which I am pastor, you have brought your devil's doctrine and broken up one family of Christ's flock already. Shall I spare my son any more than our brother spared his daughter? You will leave this house, and I do not want to see your face till you come as a penitent again." Mrs. Kestern buried her face in her hands and cowered in her chair with an inarticulate cry of woe so bitter that both father and son shrank before it. The clergyman stepped quickly over to her. "Mother, mother," he cried, "the dear Lord knows. He will save the boy yet. But how can we have such in this house?" "My son, my son," she wailed. Then, breaking free from her husband, "Oh, Paul, say you don't mean it! Paul, Paul, would you break your mother's heart? Say you don't mean it, Paul, say you don't mean it!" She flung her arms round his neck, but the boy put her away. He was piecing this and that together, and was no more only the boy. "What do you mean," he demanded, "when you say I have broken up a family in this parish? What charge is that? Tell me, if you have any justice left in you." "You know," said his father sternly; "don't pretend you do not." "I do not know," cried Paul passionately. "I begin to think you are mad, all mad. My God, if this is the religion of Christ, Christ would not know it!" His father started, and for a moment it was almost as if the old man would strike his son. Then, with a gesture, he strode to the door. "Go," he said, "go. Only last month I had to comfort Mr. Thornton when his child, Edith, left his house to become a Papist through you. Papist or atheist, it is all one to me. I will not have such within my house." "Edith!" cried Paul, utterly dumbfounded. His tone, and the use of the girl's name, braced Mrs. Kestern. "Oh, Paul," she cried, "you knew of it, don't pretend you didn't! How you could have acted so behind our backs I can't think. Poor, poor girl! Oh, you had better go now. It would be better for us all. May our Father have mercy on us, and may you be spared the agony that your parents know." His mother's action brought Paul to his senses. He looked from one to the other of them in consternation. "You don't mean it," he cried, "surely you don't mean it!" "Don't go like that, Paul," sobbed Mrs. Kestern, breaking down again, "I can't bear it."