The next thing he did startled my composure. For he asked abruptly, "Do you believe in a living personal Devil, Oliphant?" I was taken aback, but answered that to the best of my light I did not. "And why not?" he asked sharply, I explained that it was an old, false, anthropomorphic fiction, and that the modern belief was infinitely more impressive. I quoted the words of Dr Rintoul, one of our Church leaders. I am sorry to say that Mr Ladlaw's words were, "Dr Rintoul be d--d!" "Who the deuce are you to change the belief of centuries?" he cried. "Our forefathers believed in him. They saw him at evening slinking about the folds and peat-stacks, or wrapped up in a black gown standing in the pulpits of the Kirk. Are we wiser men than they?" I answered that culture had undoubtedly advanced in our day. Mr Ladlaw replied with blasphemous words on modern culture. I had imagined him to be a gentleman of considerable refinement, and I knew he had taken a good degree at college. Consequently, I was disagreeably surprised at his new manner. "You are nothing better than an ignorant parson,"--these were his words,--"and you haven't even the merits of your stupid profession. The old Scots ministers were Calvinists to the backbone, and they were strong men--strong men, do you hear?--and they left their mark upon the nation. But your new tea-meeting kind of parson, who has nothing but a smattering of bad German to commend him, is a nuisance to God and man. And they don't believe in the Devil! Well, he'll get them safe enough some day." I implored him to remember my cloth, and curb his bad language. "I say the Devil will get you all safe enough some day," he repeated. I rose to retire in as dignified a manner as possible, but he was before me and closed the door. I began to be genuinely frightened. "For God's sake, don't go!" he cried. "Don't leave me alone. Do sit down, Oliphant, like a good chap, and I promise to hold my tongue. You don't know how horrible it is to be left alone." I sat down again, though my composure was shaken. I remembered Mr Grey's words about the strange sickness. Then Mr Ladlaw fell into an extraordinary moodiness. He sat huddled up in his chair, his face turned away from me, and for some time neither of us spoke a word. I thought that I had seriously offended him, and prepared to apologise, so I touched his left shoulder to attract his attention. Instantly he jumped to his feet, screaming, and turned on me a face of utter terror. I could do nothing but stare at him, and in a second he quieted down and returned to his seat.