ous to discover what
exactly this gift was and how it would feel to be filled with the Holy
Ghost. So he awaited with more enthusiasm than most the day of his
strengthening in the Church.

Confirmation stirred him because the bishop spoke warmly and, as
bishops go, sensibly. But first Communion was a disappointment. He
had expected so much, he had looked forward with so tense a curiosity
to the receiving of a priceless and unknown gift, and he had to admit
that he felt exactly as he had felt before. It couldn't be, he
decided, his own faith that was lacking, for he had gone to the
sacrament in perfect confidence about the blessing that was to come,
and he resolved to continue his search for the truth and the help that
it would bring. So for two terms he attended the Communion with fair
regularity. But still nothing happened, the promise seemed to him
unfulfilled, and he came to the conclusion that it was no use going on.
For the future he lay in bed on Sunday mornings and listened to the
faithful washing and groping for their studs. The position of the
sceptic had, after all, its consolations.

In course of the following holidays he discovered among some
paper-covered books of his uncle's a three-penny copy of Blatchford's
_God and My Neighbour_. He read it through almost without a break, for
he had just reached the necessary stage to appreciate it. The short,
stabbing sentences and the obvious good-will of the author made a great
impression upon him, and he was thrilled by the peroration and flaming
appeal for a world set free from kings and priests and all such
evil-doers. He caught the spirit of the book at once and read it aloud
to himself, rejoicing:

"'Rightly or wrongly, I am for reason against dogmas, for evolution
against revolution: for humanity always: for earth, not heaven: for the
holiest trinity of all--the trinity of man, woman, and child.'

"This," he thought, "is literature."

And then the final thunderclap: "'Let the holy have their heaven. I am
a man, and an Infidel. And this is my apology. Besides, gentlemen,
Christianity is not true.'"

Martin saw it all now: Christianity was not true: it was a lie and a
fraud kept alive by priests and bishops with a view to salaries. He
wanted very much to speak to his uncle and question him about science
and the New Testament authorities, but, though they were on very
intimate terms, he dared not approach him on this occasion. The reason
was