“But it _is_. It’s giving up your conscience.” “You’re very determined,” laughed Miss Haddie bitterly. “I’m certainly not going to give my mind up to a parson for him to do what he likes with. That’s what it is. That’s what they do. I’ve seen it again and again. I’ve heard people talking about sermons,” finished Miriam with vivacious intentness. Miss Haddie sat very still with her hands once more pressed tightly against her face. “Oh, my dear. This is a dreadful state of affairs. I’m afraid you’re all wrong. That’s not it at all. If you listen only for the good, the good will come to you.” “But these men don’t know. How should they? They don’t agree amongst themselves.” “Oh, my dear, that is a very wrong attitude. How long have ye felt like this?” “Oh, all my life,” responded Miriam proudly. “I’m very sorry, my dear.” “Ever since I can remember. Always.” There were ivory-backed brushes on the dressing-table. Miriam stared at them and let her eyes wander on to a framed picture of an agonised thorn-crowned head. “Were you--have ye--eh--have ye been confirmed?” “Oh yes.” “Did ye discuss any of your difficulties with yer vicar?” “Not I. I knew his mind too well. Had heard him preach for years. He would have run round my questions. He wasn’t capable of answering them. For instance, supposing I had asked him what I’ve _always_ wanted to know. How can people, ordinary people, be expected to be like Christ, as they say, when they think Christ was supernatural? Of course, if he was supernatural it was easy enough for him to be as he was; if he was not supernatural, then there’s nothing in the whole thing.” “My _dear_ child! I’m dreadfully sorry ye feel like that. I’d no idea ye felt like that, poor child. I knew ye weren’t quite happy always; I mean I’ve thought ye weren’t quite happy in yer mind sometimes, but I’d no idea--eh, eh, have ye ever consulted anybody--anybody able to give ye advice?” “There you are. That’s exactly the whole thing! _Who_ can one consult? There isn’t anybody. The people who are qualified are the people who have the thing called faith, which means that they beg the whole question from the beginning.” “Eh--dear--me--Miriam--child!” “Well, I’m made that way. How can I help it if faith seems to me just an abnormal condition of the mind with fanaticism at one end and agnosticism at the other?” “My dear, ye believe in God?” “Well, you see, I see things like this. On one side a prime cause with a certain object unknown to me, bringing humanity into being; on the other side humanity, all more or less miserable, never having been consulted as to whether they wanted to come to life. If that is belief, a South Sea Islander could have it. But good people, people with faith, want me to believe that one day God sent a saviour to rescue the world from sin and that the world can never be grateful enough and must become as Christ. Well. If God made people he is responsible and ought to save them.”