'Did you never ask yourself, Elsmere,' he said slowly, 'what it was drove me from the bar and journalism to the East End? Do you think I don't know,' and his voice rose, his eyes flamed, 'what black devil it is that is gnawing at your heart now? Why, man, I have been through darker gulfs of hell than you have ever sounded! Many a night I have felt myself _mad--mad of doubt_--a castaway on a shoreless sea; doubting not only God or Christ, but myself, the soul, the very existence of good. I found only one way out of it, and _you_ will find only one way.' The lithe hand caught Robert's arm impetuously--the voice with its accent of fierce conviction was at his ear. 'Trample on yourself! Pray down the demon, fast, scourge, kill the body, that the soul may live! What are we, miserable worms, that we should defy the Most High, that we should set our wretched faculties against His Omnipotence? Submit--submit--humble yourself, my brother! Fling away the freedom which is your ruin. There is no freedom for man. Either a slave to Christ, or a slave to his own lusts--there is no other choice. Go away; exchange your work here for a time for work in London. You have too much leisure here: Satan has too much opportunity. I foresaw it--I foresaw it when you and I first met. I felt I had a message for you, and here I deliver it. In the Lord's name, I bid you fly; I bid you yield in time. Better to be the Lord's captive than _the Lord's betrayer_!' The wasted form was drawn up to its full height, the arm was outstretched, the long cloak fell back from it in long folds--voice and eye were majesty itself. Robert had a tremor of responsive passion. How easy it sounded, how tempting, to cut the knot, to mutilate and starve the rebellious intellect which would assert itself against the soul's purest instincts! Newcome had done it--why not he? And then, suddenly, as he stood gazing at his companion, the spring sun, and murmur all about them, another face, another life, another message, flashed on his inmost sense--the face and life of Henry Grey. Words torn from their context but full for him of intensest meaning, passed rapidly through his mind: '_God is not wisely trusted when declared unintelligible._' '_Such honour rooted in dishonour stands; such faith unfaithful makes us falsely true._' '_God is for ever reason: and His communication, His revelation, is reason._' He turned away with a slight sad shake of the head. The spell was broken. Mr. Newcome's arm dropped, and he moved sombrely on beside Robert--the hand, which held a little book of Hours against his cloak, trembling slightly. At the rectory gate he stopped. 'Good-bye--I must go home.' 'You won't come in?--No, no, Newcome; believe me, I am no rash careless egotist, risking wantonly the most precious things in life! But the call is on me, and I must follow it. All life is God's, and all thought--not only a fraction of it. He cannot let me wander very far!'