erning the Death, Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus Christ, and
hence his faith in all the other Christian miracles, had dropped off him
once and for ever. The investigation he had made in consequence of Mr
Shaw's rebuke, hurried though it was, had left a deep impression upon
him, and now he was well enough to read he made the New Testament his
chief study, going through it in the spirit which Mr Shaw had desired of
him, that is to say as one who wished neither to believe nor disbelieve,
but cared only about finding out whether he ought to believe or no. The
more he read in this spirit the more the balance seemed to lie in favour
of unbelief, till, in the end, all further doubt became impossible, and
he saw plainly enough that, whatever else might be true, the story that
Christ had died, come to life again, and been carried from earth through
clouds into the heavens could not now be accepted by unbiassed people. It
was well he had found it out so soon. In one way or another it was sure
to meet him sooner or later. He would probably have seen it years ago if
he had not been hoodwinked by people who were paid for hoodwinking him.
What should he have done, he asked himself, if he had not made his
present discovery till years later when he was more deeply committed to
the life of a clergyman? Should he have had the courage to face it, or
would he not more probably have evolved some excellent reason for
continuing to think as he had thought hitherto? Should he have had the
courage to break away even from his present curacy?

He thought not, and knew not whether to be more thankful for having been
shown his error or for having been caught up and twisted round so that he
could hardly err farther, almost at the very moment of his having
discovered it. The price he had had to pay for this boon was light as
compared with the boon itself. What is too heavy a price to pay for
having duty made at once clear and easy of fulfilment instead of very
difficult? He was sorry for his father and mother, and he was sorry for
Miss Maitland, but he was no longer sorry for himself.

It puzzled him, however, that he should not have known how much he had
hated being a clergyman till now. He knew that he did not particularly
like it, but if anyone had asked him whether he actually hated it, he
would have answered no. I suppose people almost always want something
external to themselves, to reveal to them their own likes and dislikes.