im, down here to this wilderness and hole of a Quebec
Province for a change. For keeps, I imagine."

He went round the table and poured out some whisky, drank it off raw,
and still Ringfield did not understand. He thought this was the sober
phase, the other, the drunken one, and feeling his way, ventured on
general topics.

"Well, I'm here too by a curious twist of circumstances. I'm a
'varsity' man--Toronto, you know--and might look for something
different from St. Ignace."

"You're a what?" cried the other. "O Lord!" and a strange kind of rude
contempt filled the rich cadences with which he spoke, so different
from the surly repression of his ordinary tone.

"O I see!" he drawled presently. "I'm an Oxford man myself--worse
luck--and much good it's done me; hope you've benefited more thereby.
What disgusting rot, Ringfield, filling us up with Horace and Virgil,
and then sending us out to a land like this! I'm the youngest of five;
there was nothing left for me at home, and then there was fuss about a
woman--there always is."

"Is there?" echoed the other sweetly, determined not to be annoyed.
"Don't lay everything at their door. Our mothers, Crabbe, our
sisters----"

The Englishman suddenly ran amuck, as it were.

"In God's name, Ringfield, drop that! I can see you know nothing about
it, nothing about life or women--God, Ringfield, women are the Devil!
If I thought you'd listen and not preach----"

The other's hand, which had been lifted in horror and deprecation, came
down again.

"I don't care to listen," he said, "but I can gather your meaning--all
the same! Don't take any more of that vile stuff, you'll make yourself
drunk. Here----" and then, with sudden fury, the preacher grabbed the
bottle, threw it out of the window among the debris of rotting fruit
and rusty cans and faced the Englishman.

For a moment Crabbe looked, spat, and swore like a fiend; then he
collapsed into his chair, though still gazing at Ringfield with those
full, rolling eyes and that hateful, superior smile.

"I'll hear anything you have to tell about yourself," continued
Ringfield, "but I won't listen to tales of other people, men or women.
And what's the use of telling me about yourself? That won't do any
good. Put it all back in the past, man; put it all away. Now is your
accepted time, now is your day of salvation, right here, this moment.
But I won't preach to you. I won't vindicate my calling and talk
religio