e long lie--a lie to man and to God. For I do believe so far,"
he added, solemnly; "I believe in the one ruling Spirit of the
universe--unknown, unapproachable. None but a madman would deny the
existence of a God."

He ceased, and looked upwards with his piercing eyes--piercing, yet full
of restless sorrow. Then he approached his companion.

"Shall we walk on, or do you utterly renounce me?" said he, with a
touching, sad humility.

"Renounce you!"

"Ah! you would not, could you know all I have endured. To me, earth has
been a hell--not the place of flames and torments of which your divines
prate, but the true hell--that of the conscience and the soul. I, too,
a man whose whole nature was athirst for truth. I sought it first among
its professors; there I found that they who, too idle or too weak to
demonstrate their creed, took it upon trust, did what their fathers did,
believed what their fathers believed--were accounted orthodox and pious
men; while those who, in their earnest eager youth, dared--not as yet
to doubt, but meekly to ask a reason for their faith--they were at once
condemned as impious. But I pain you: shall I go on, or cease?"

"Go on."

"Truth, still truth, I yearned for in another form--in domestic
peace--in the love of woman.--My soul was famishing for any food; I
snatched this--in my mouth it became ashes!" His voice seemed choking,
but with an effort he continued. "After this time I gave up earth, and
turned to interests beyond it. With straining eyes I gazed into the
Infinite--and I was dazzled, blinded, whirled from darkness to light,
and from light to darkness--no rest, no rest! This state lasted long,
but its end came. Now I walk like a man in his sleep, feeling nothing,
fearing nothing,--no, thou mighty Unknown, I do _not_ fear! But then I
hope nothing: I believe nothing. Those pleasant dreams of yours--God,
Heaven, Immortality--are to me meaningless words. At times I utter them,
and they seem to shine down like pitiless stars upon the black boiling
sea in which I am drowning."

"Oh, God, have mercy!" moaned Olive Rothesay. "Give me strength that my
own faith fail not, and that I may bring Thy light unto this perishing
soul!" And turning to Harold, she said aloud, as calmly as she could,
"Tell me--since you have told me thus far--how you came to take upon
yourself the service of the Church; you who"----

"Ay, well may you pause and shudder! Hear, then, how the devil--if there
be one--c