Difficulties went on presenting themselves; at times he would be overwhelmed in the tossing waves of contradiction and impossibility; but still his head would come up into the air and he would get a breath before he went down again. And with every fresh conflict, every fresh gleam of doubtful victory, the essential idea of the master looked more and more lovely. And he began to see the working of his doubts on the growth of his heart and soul--both widening and realizing his faith, and preventing it from becoming faith in an idea of God instead of in the living God--the God beyond as well as in the heart that thought and willed and imagined. He had much time for reflection as he sat silent by the bedside of Leopold. Sometimes Helen would be sitting near, though generally when he arrived she went out for her walk, but never anything came to him he could utter to her. And she was one of those who learn little from other people. A change must pass upon her ere she could be rightly receptive. Some vapour or other that clouded her being must be driven to the winds first. Mrs. Ramshorn had become at least reconciled to the frequent presence of the curate, partly from the testimony of Helen, partly from the witness of her own eyes to the quality of his ministrations. She was by no means one of the loveliest among women, yet she had a heart, and could appreciate some kinds of goodness which the arrogance of her relation to the church did not interfere to hide--for nothing is so deadening to the divine as an habitual dealing with the outsides of holy things--and she became half-friendly and quite courteous when she met the curate on the stair, and would now and then, when she thought of it, bring him a glass of wine as he sat by the bedside. CHAPTER VIII. AN EXAMINATION. The acquaintance between the draper and the gate-keeper rapidly ripened into friendship. Very generally, as soon as he had shut his shop, Drew would walk to the park-gate to see Polwarth; and three times a week at least, the curate made one of the party. Much was then talked, more was thought, and I venture to say, more yet was understood. One evening the curate went earlier than usual, and had tea with the Polwarths. “Do you remember,” he asked of his host, “once putting to me the question what our Lord came into this world for?” “I do,” answered Polwarth. “And you remember I answered you wrong: I said it was to save the world.” “I do. But remember, I said _primarily_, for of course he did come to save the world.” “Yes, just so you put it. Well, I think I can answer the question correctly now, and in learning the true answer I have learned much. Did he not come first of all to do the will of his Father? Was not his Father first with him always and in everything--his fellow-men next--for they were his Father’s?” “I need not say it--you know that you are right. Jesus is tenfold a real person to you--is he not--since you discovered that truth?”