"Would that be fair, then—in an All-wise, that is, toward an ignorant being?"
"I think not. Therefore I look for something to reveal it to you. But, although I dare not say you are to blame, because that would be to take upon myself the office of a judge, which is God's alone, He only being able to give fair play, I would yet have you search yourself, and see whether you may not come upon something which keeps you from giving full and honest attention to what some people, as honest as yourself, think they see true. I am speaking only from my knowledge of myself, and the conviction that we are all much alike. What if you should discover that you do not really and absolutely disbelieve in a God?—that the human nature is not capable of such a disbelief?—that your unbelief has been only indifference and irreverence—and that to a Being grander and nobler and fairer than human heart can conceive?"
"If it be so, let Him punish me," said the doctor gravely.
"If it be so, He will," said the curate solemnly, "—and you will thank
Him for it—after a while. The God of my belief is too good not to make
Himself known to a man who loves what is fair and honest, as you do."
The doctor was silent.
While they were talking thus, two ladies had left the others and now approached them—Mrs. Wingfold and Miss Meredith. They had heard the last few sentences, and seeing two clergymen against one infidel, hastened with the generosity of women to render him what aid they might.
"I am sure Mr. Faber is honest," said Helen.
"That is much to say for any man," returned the curate.
"If any man is, then," adjected Juliet.
"That is a great If," rejoined Wingfold."—Are you honest, Helen?" he added, turning to his wife.