"Why?" I inquired, all eagerness to learn what he knew of her strange power of evil. "I cannot explain, because there is a mystery which is impenetrable," he answered. "I shall resign the living and go abroad. I can no longer remain here." "You will again fly from her, as you did when you went and hid yourself in Duddington?" I asked. "I can't understand the reason of your actions. Why not give me a little more explanation?" "But I can't explain, because I have not yet fathomed the truth." "Then you only entertain certain suspicions, and will act upon them without obtaining clear grounds. That's illogical, Jack--very illogical." He pondered for a few moments, tugging at his moustache. "Well, I hadn't looked at it in that light before, I must confess," he answered at last. "You think I ought to be entirely satisfied before I act." "Yes, rashness should not be one of the characteristics of a man who ministers God's Word," I said. "But the deadly trail of the Serpent is upon everything," he declared. "I can hope for nothing more. I cannot be hypocritical, neither can I serve two masters. Is it not better for me to resign from the Church at once than to offend before God?" "For whatever sin you have committed there is the Great Forgiveness," I said calmly. "You are a believer, or you could not preach those enthralling sermons, which have already made you noted in ecclesiastical London. You are known as a brilliant, powerful preacher who can make the tears well in the eyes of strong men by your fervent appeal to them to turn from their wickedness and live. Think!" I said. "Recollect the men steeped in sin whom you have induced to come forth and bow before their God in penitence. Think of those men who have been saved by your ministrations, and then ask yourself whether there is no salvation for you?" "Yes!" he sighed. "What you say is quite true, Clifton--quite true." "Then if you abandon the Church you abandon faith in the generous forgiveness which you have preached, and exhibit to those who have believed in you a doubt in the grace of God. Surely you, Jack, will not do this?" He was silent, with bent head, as he stood before me reflecting. "Your argument is a strong one, certainly," he said at last. "But can I actually stand in my pulpit and preach the Gospel after the knowledge that has come to me?" "Knowledge!" I repeated. "We found that knowledge to be a mere suspicion only a moment ago!" "Yes," he admitted; "suspicion if you like. Well, that amounts to the same thing." "Why don't you tell me all about it?" I urged. "What are these suspicions regarding Aline?" I recollected my bond of secrecy, and it drove me to madness. If I could tell him all I knew, I felt that together we might combine to probe the mystery. As it was, my silence was imperative. "It's my misfortune that I have not sufficient grounds for making any direct allegation. I love her still; I adore her; I worship her; but--"