At last the clergyman said to him: “You think yourself a liar, Aviolet. That’s really what it amounts to. You say that boasting of imaginary achievements has become a habit with you, and that you make perfectly false statements almost without premeditation. Now, my dear fellow, if you were really a hardened liar, you wouldn’t have come to me to-night, you may be perfectly sure of that. You were not bound to tell any one of this fault. What made you do so?”
Cecil looked dumbly at him.
“It was the wish to be rid of it, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then I solemnly assure you that you will be rid of it. Don’t you suppose that Our Lord and Saviour appreciates even the most feeble desire to amend? You’ve shown great courage in coming to me to-night,” said the young man excitedly. “And I want you to listen to me, and to believe what I’m going to tell you.”
He collected himself, and then spoke more quietly.
“To begin with, I want you to realize that you can’t do anything at all by yourself. This habit of untruth makes you miserable, is sapping away your energies, causes you to view everything in a distorted light. You see it all, you know it’s playing the mischief with you, and no doubt you make a hundred resolutions a day to break yourself of the beastly habit. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“But you can’t. Your resolution is broken as often as it’s made and you’re in despair. And isn’t it a very odd thing that very often it’s not until people are in despair that they think of turning to our blessed Lord for help?”
Mr. Perriman smiled at Cecil.