“Well, why don’t you go ahead?” he remarked carelessly. “I give you my word I shall never mention it. But see--you haven’t the will to do it. You yielded yourself for a moment to the absurd hallucination that your life was a complete and finished thing, but it is not; I take it upon myself, my dear Craighill, to say that it is not. There are many rough edges; the design is incomplete. You will have to wait a little, my friend. The will of God has not had its divine way with you yet.” “The will of God!” cried Wayne, hardly knowing in his anger that he was following the priest away from the precipice; “do you think I believe any of that rot?” “Then,” the tall priest replied, speaking brusquely, as was his way, “we will say the way of the devil, if that pleases your humour better. The devil, then, hasn’t made a very good job of you yet. He has his sense of artistic completeness, and he can hardly look upon you as one of his _chefs d’œuvre_. Even the devil requires time. It doesn’t strike me off-hand, from my observation of his patterns, that he’s made much headway with you. He would undoubtedly accomplish more in time; but you are not ready for his collection yet. Let’s continue our walk. We must have a good many ideas in common. In your day at St. John’s did they afflict you with roast veal every Thursday? They did in my time and it was always a trial to me. I remember----” A light way, indeed, to treat the heroic impulse of a man ready, a moment before, to plunge into the dark; but Paul Stoddard was not without his wisdom. He wrote a note to Paddock that night in which he said: “Craighill is a good fellow and there is hope for him. He is a man in search of his own soul and he will find it in time. Pray for him.” * * * * *