“His mother was good, and he was better: your mother was good, and you are worse! Whose fault is that?”
“My own; I’m not ashamed to confess it!”
“Would to God you were!” said Donal: “you shame your mother in being worse than she was. You were made in the image of God, but you don’t look like him now any more than you look like your mother. I have a father and mother, my lord, as like God as they can look!”
“Of course! of course! In their position there are no such temptations as in ours!”
“I am sure of one thing, my lord—that you will never be at any peace until you begin to show the image in which you were made. By that time you will care for nothing so much as that he should have his way with you and the whole world.”
“It will be long before I come to that!”
“Probably; but you will never have a moment’s peace till you begin. It is no use talking though. God has not made you miserable enough yet.”
“I am more miserable than you can think.”
“Why don’t you cry to him to deliver you?”
“I would kill myself if it weren’t for one thing.”