Anthony was not popular at college, though his friends were steadfast. It was not until later years, when life had tempered the incisive irony of his speech and endowed him with the diplomacy of indifference, that men fell beneath the attraction of his personality. At that time he was looked upon in an ominous light, and the scintillant scepticism which he carried fearlessly into every department of knowledge caused him to be regarded as one who might prove himself to be an enemy to society. Even his voice, which long afterwards exerted so potent an influence, had not then gained its varied range and richness of expression. So, when, years later, the public lauded the qualities they had formerly condemned, there was no inconsistence--since life is more colored by points of view than by principles. At the end of his theological course he had delivered an address, at the request of his class, upon the "Christian Revelation." When it was over he went into his guardian's room, the flame of a long determination in his eyes. The paper which he had read was still in his hands, and he laid it upon the table as he spoke. "It can't be," he said. "I give it up." The man whom he addressed rose slowly and faced him, standing, a tall, gaunt figure in his clerical coat. His hair was white, and at a first glance he presented the impression of a statue modelled in plaster, so much did the value of form outweigh that of color in his appearance. In meeting his eyes an observer would, perhaps, have gained a conception of expression rather than shade. One would have said that the eyes were benevolent, not that they were gray or blue. His forehead was high and somewhat narrow, three heavy furrows running diagonally between the eyebrows--ruts left by the constant passage of perplexities. He was called Father Speares, and was an impassioned leader of the High Church movement. "Do you mean it?" he asked, slowly--"that you give up your faith?" Algarcife's brow wrinkled in sudden irritation. "That I have given up long ago," he answered. "If I ever had any, it was an ingrafted product. What I do mean is that I give up the Church--that I give up theology--that I give up religion." The other flinched suddenly. He put out one frail, white hand as if in protest. "I--I cannot believe it," he said. "And yet I have been honest." "Honest! Yes, I suppose so. Honest--" he lifted the paper from the table and unfolded it mechanically. "And yet you could write this?" Anthony shook his head impatiently. "I was but a special pleader with the side assigned, and you knew it." "But I did not know your power--nor do you. It convinced me--convinced me, though I came with the knowledge that your words were empty--empty and rotten--" "They were words. The case was given me, and I defended it as a lawyer defends a client. What else could I do?" Father Speares sighed and passed his hand across his brow.