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.  Our most assured likings have for the most part been arrived at neither by introspection nor by any process of conscious reasoning, but by the bounding forth of the heart to welcome the gospel proclaimed to it by another.  We hear some say that such and such a thing is thus or thus, and in a moment the train that has been laid within us, but whose presence we knew not, flashes into consciousness and perception.