ust of God? Is it unjust that the
children of the mad are mad, and the children of the virtuous virtuous.'

'You take from us responsibility if we inherit sin.'

'Nay, I increase responsibility. If we inherit obliquity of conscience,
we are the more responsible for acting not as seems right in our own
eyes, the more bound to restrain and instruct ourselves, for by this
doctrine is laid upon us the responsibility of our children and
children's children, that they may be better, not worse, than we.'

All night long the curate paced up and down his room. The dawn came and
he saw the fishermen hurry away to the boats at the quay. The sunrise
came with its dull transient light upon the rain cloud. When the morning
advanced he went for the Jew, and they walked down the street in the
driving rain. The wet paving-stones and roofs reflected the grey light
of the clouds which hurried overhead. The ruddy-twigged beech trees at
the vicarage gate were shaken and buffeted by the storm. The two men
shook their dripping hats as they entered the house. They were received
in a private parlour, which was filled with objects of art and devotion.
Very blandly did the good wife of the vicar greet them, yet with
business-like condescension.

The Jew, in a few very simple words, told the story of his sister's
death and the loss of the amulet. He told the peculiar value of the
amulet, and added, 'I have reason, madam, to believe that it has come
into your possession. If so, and if you have it still by you, I entreat
that you will give it to me at once, for to you it can only be a pretty
trinket, and to us it is like a household god.'

She looked at the Jew with evident emotion. 'I cannot tell you how it
grieves me to hear you speak as if you attributed to any inanimate
object the saving power which belongs to God alone,' she said. 'Think
for a moment, only think, how dishonouring such a superstition is to the
Creator.'

'Madam!' said the Jew in utmost surprise.

'Consider how wrong such a superstition is,' she said. 'What virtue can
there be in a stone, or a piece of metal, or an inscription? None. They
are as dead and powerless as the idols of the heathen; and to put the
faith in any such thing that we ought to put in God's providence, is to
dishonour Him. It grieves me to think that you, or any other intelligent
man, could believe in such a superstition.'

'Madam,' said the Jew again, 'these things are as we think of them. You
think