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years he looked down from between the pillars of the gallery； that
creeps round the church through the thickness of the wall； like an
artery； and recalled the service of this Sunday morning； he felt
more strongly than ever that such a faith had not reared that
cathedral。 The service was like the church only as a dead body is
like a man。 There was no fervour in it； no aspiration。 The great
central tower was gone。
That morning prayers and sermon were philosophically dull； and
respectable as any after…dinner speech。 Nor could it well be
otherwise： one of the favourite sayings of its minister was； that a
clergyman is nothing but a moral policeman。 As such； however； he
more resembled one of Dogberry's watch。 He could not even preach
hell with any vigour； for as a gentleman he recoiled from the
vulgarity of the doctrine； yielding only a few feeble words on the
subject as a sop to the Cerberus that watches over the dues of the
Biblequite unaware that his notion of the doctrine had been drawn
from the ？neid； and not from the Bible。
'Well； have you got anything； Robert？' asked Ericson； as he entered
his room。
'Nothing；' answered Robert。
'What was the sermon about？'
'It was all to prove that God is a benevolent being。'
'Not a devil； that is；' answered Ericson。 'Small consolation that。'
'Sma' eneuch；' responded Robert。 'I cudna help thinkin' I kent mony
a tyke （dog） that God had made wi' mair o' what I wad ca' the divine
natur' in him nor a' that Dr。 Soulis made oot to be in God himsel'。
He had no ill intentions wi' usit amuntit to that。 He wasna
ill…willy； as the bairns say。 But the doctor had some sair wark； I
thoucht； to mak that oot； seein' we war a' the children o' wrath；
accordin' to him； born in sin； and inheritin' the guilt o' Adam's
first trespass。 I dinna think Dr。 Soulis cud say that God had dune
the best he cud for 's。 But he never tried to say onything like
that。 He jist made oot that he was a verra respectable kin' o' a
God； though maybe no a'thing we micht wuss。 We oucht to be thankfu'
that he gae's a wee blink o' a chance o' no bein' brunt to a'
eternity； wi' nae chance ava。 I dinna say that he said that； but
that's what it a' seemed to me to come till。 He said a hantle aboot
the care o' Providence； but a' the gude that he did seemed to me to
be but a haudin' aff o' something ill that he had made as weel。 Ye
wad hae thocht the deevil had made the warl'； and syne God had
pitten us intil 't； and jist gied a bit wag o' 's han' whiles to
haud the deevil aff o' 's whan he was like to destroy the breed
a'thegither。 For the grace that he spak aboot； that was less nor
the nature an' the providence。 I cud see unco little o' grace intil
't。'
Here Ericson broke infearful； apparently； lest his boyfriend
should be actually about to deny the God in whom he did not himself
believe。
'Robert；' he said solemnly； 'one thing is certain： if there be a God
at all； he is not like that。 If there be a God at all； we shall
know him by his perfectionhis grand perfect truth； fairness；
lovea love to make life an absolute goodnot a mere accommodation
of difficulties； not a mere preponderance of the balance on the side
of well…being。 Love only could have been able to create。 But they
don't seem jealous for the glory of God； those men。 They don't mind
a speck； or even a blot； here and there upon him。 The world doesn't
make them miserable。 They can get over the misery of their
fellow…men without being troubled about them； or about the God that
could let such things be。7 They represent a God who does wonderfully
well； on the whole； after a middling fashion。 I want a God who
loves perfectly。 He may kill； he may torture even； but if it be for
love's sake； Lord； here am I。 Do with me as thou wilt。'
Had Ericson forgotten that he had no proof of such a God？ The next
moment the intellectual demon was awake。
'But what's the good of it all？' he said。 'I don't even know that
there is anything outside of me。'
'Ye ken that I'm here； Mr。 Ericson；' suggested Robert。
'I know nothing of the sort。 You may be another phantomonly
clearer。'
'Ye speik to me as gin ye thocht me somebody。'
'So does the man to his phantoms； and you call him mad。 It is but a
yielding to the pressure of constant suggestion。 I do not knowI
cannot know if there is anything outside of me。'
'But gin there warna； there wad be naebody for ye to love； Mr。
Ericson。'
'Of course not。'
'Nor naebody to love you； Mr。 Ericson。'
'Of course not。'
'Syne ye wad be yer ain God； Mr。 Ericson。'
'Yes。 That would follow。'
'I canna imagine a waur hellclosed in amo' naethingwi' naething
a' aboot ye； luikin' something a' the timekennin' 'at it 's a' a
lee； and nae able to win clear o' 't。'
'It is hell； my boy； or anything worse you can call it。'
'What for suld ye believe that； than； Mr。 Ericson？ I wadna believe
sic an ill thing as that。 I dinna think I cud believe 't； gin ye
war to pruv 't to me。'
'I don't believe it。 Nobody could prove that either； even if it
were so。 I am only miserable that I can't prove the contrary。'
'Suppose there war a God； Mr。 Ericson； do ye think ye bude （behoved）
to be able to pruv that？ Do ye think God cud stan' to be pruved as
gin he war something sma' eneuch to be turned roon' and roon'； and
luikit at upo' ilka side？ Gin there war a God； wadna it jist be
saethat we cudna prove him to be； I mean？'
'Perhaps。 That is something。 I have often thought of that。 But
then you can't prove anything about it。'
'I canna help thinkin' o' what Mr。 Innes said to me ance。 I was but
a laddie； but I never forgot it。 I plaguit him sair wi' wantin' to
unnerstan' ilka thing afore I wad gang on wi' my questons （sums）。
Says he； ae day； 〃Robert； my man； gin ye will aye unnerstan' afore
ye du as ye're tellt； ye'll never unnerstan' onything。 But gin ye
du the thing I tell ye； ye'll be i' the mids o' 't afore ye ken 'at
ye're gaein' intil 't。〃 I jist thocht I wad try him。 It was at
lang division that I boglet maist。 Weel； I gaed on； and I cud du
the thing weel eneuch； ohn made ae mistak。 And aye I thocht the
maister was wrang； for I never kent the rizzon o' a' that beginnin'
at the wrang en'； an' takin' doon an' substrackin'； an' a' that。 Ye
wad hardly believe me； Mr。 Ericson： it was only this verra day； as I
was sittin' i' the kirkit was a lang psalm they war singin'that
ane wi' the foxes i' the tail o' 'tlang division came into my heid
again； and first aye bit glimmerin' o' licht cam in； and syne
anither； an' afore the psalm was dune I saw throu' the haill process
o' 't。 But ye see； gin I hadna dune as I was tauld； and learnt a'
aboot hoo it was dune aforehan'； I wad hae had naething to gang
rizzonin' aboot； an' wad hae fun' oot naething。'
'That's good； Robert。 But when a man is dying for food； he can't
wait。'
'He micht try to get up and luik； though。 He needna bide in 's bed
till somebody comes an' sweirs till him 'at he saw a haddie
（haddock） i' the press。'
'I have been looking； Robertfor years。'
'Maybe； like me； only for the rizzon o' 't； Mr。 Ericsongin ye'll
forgie my impidence。'
'But what's to be done in this case； Robert？ Where's the work that
you can do in order to understand？ Where's your long division；
man？'
'Ye're ayont me noo。 I canna tell that； Mr。 Ericson。 It canna be
gaein' to the kirk； surely。 Maybe it micht be sayin' yer prayers
and readin' yer Bible。'
Ericson did not reply； and the conversation dropped。 Is it strange
that neither of these disciples should have thought of turning to
the story of Jesus； finding some word that he had spoken； and
beginning to do that as a first step towards a knowledge of the
doctrine that Jesus was the incarnate God； come to visit his
peoplea very unlikely thing to man's wisdom； yet an idea that has
notwithstanding ascended above man's horizon； and shown itself the
grandest idea in his firmament？
In the evening Ericson asked again for his papers； from which he
handed Robert the following poem：
WORDS IN THE NIGHT。
I woke at midnight； and my heart；
My beating heart said this to me：
Thou seest the moon how calm and bright
The world is fair by day and night；
But what is that to thee？
One touch to medown dips the light
Over the land and sea。
All is mine； all is my own！
Toss the purple fountain high！
The breast of man is a vat of stone；
I am alive； I； only I！
One little touch and all is dark；
The winter with its sparkling moons
The spring with all her violets；
The crimson dawns and rich sunsets；
The autumn's yellowing noons。
I only toss my purple jets；
And thou art one that swoons
Upon a night of gust and roar；
Shipwrecked among the waves； and seems
Across the purple hills to roam；
Sweet odours touch him fr