t they
struck the reader's sense more sharply.

'And the saint said to the sorcerers and to the practisers of unholy
arts, that they should do those evil things no more, for he had bound
the spirits of whom they were wont to inquire, and they would get no
further answers to their incantations. Then those stiff-necked sons of
the devil fell upon the man of God, scourged him sore, and threatened
him with death, if he would not instantly loose those spirits he had
bound. And seeing he could prevail nothing, and being, moreover,
admonished by God so to do, he permitted them to work their own
damnation. For he called for a parchment and wrote upon it, "_Ambrose
unto Satan--Enter!_" Then was the spell loosed, the spirits returned,
the sorcerers inquired as they were accustomed, and received answers.
But in a short space of time every one of them perished miserably and
was delivered unto his natural lord Satanas, whereunto he belonged.'

Robert made a hasty exclamation, and turning to Catherine, who was
working beside him, read the passage to her, with a few words as to the
book and its author.

Catherine's work dropped a moment on to her knee.

'What extraordinary superstition!' she said, startled. 'A bishop,
Robert, and an educated man?'

Robert nodded.

'But it is the whole habit of mind,' he said half to himself, staring
into the fire, 'that is so astounding. No one escapes it. The whole age
really is non-sane.'

'I suppose the devout Catholic would believe that?'

'I am not sure,' said Robert dreamily, and remained sunk in thought for
long after, while Catherine worked, and pondered a Christmas
entertainment for her girls.

* * * * *

Perhaps it was his scientific work, fragmentary as it was, that was
really quickening and sharpening these historical impressions of his.
Evolution--once a mere germ in the mind--was beginning to press, to
encroach, to intermeddle with the mind's other furniture.

And the comparative instinct--that tool, _par excellence_, of modern
science--was at last fully awake, was growing fast, taking hold, now
here, now there.

'It is tolerably clear to me,' he said to himself suddenly one winter
afternoon, as he was trudging home alone from Mile End, 'that some day
or other I must set to work to bring a little order into one's notions
of the Old Testament. At present they are just a chaos!'

He walked on a while, struggling with the rainstorm which had o