"All the same it was wrong in me to do what I did."
"I did it too, as much or more than you. And I don't think it wrong. I'm certain it was quite right, and I would do just the same again."
"Perhaps it has not done you the harm it has done me."
"Nonsense! Thurstan. Don't be morbid. I'm sure you are as good—and better than ever you were."
"No, I am not. I have got what you call morbid just in consequence of the sophistry by which I persuaded myself that wrong could be right. I torment myself. I have lost my clear instincts of conscience. Formerly, if I believed that such or such an action was according to the will of God, I went and did it, or at least I tried to do it, without thinking of consequences. Now, I reason and weigh what will happen if I do so and so—I grope where formerly I saw. Oh, Faith! it is such a relief to me to have the truth known, that I am afraid I have not been sufficiently sympathising with Ruth."
"Poor Ruth!" said Miss Benson. "But at any rate our telling a lie has been the saving of her. There is no fear of her going wrong now."
"God's omnipotence did not need our sin."
They did not speak for some time.
"You have not told me what Mr Bradshaw said."
"One can't remember the exact words that are spoken on either side in moments of such strong excitement. He was very angry, and said some things about me that were very just, and some about Ruth that were very hard. His last words were that he should give up coming to chapel."