"Yes."
"My dear friend, even in the very evil itself lies the remedy."
Leo felt the blind anger rise within him, which now so frequently overwhelmed him. This, after all, came to very much the same as Brenckenberg's doctrine.
"Don't frown, my dear friend, nor argue with God; but fold your hands, and praise His Holy Name for the grace which has brought you even to this condition of mind, and laid this leaven in your heart to prepare it for the blessings He will rain on you."
"What blessings?"
"The blessings of His infinite mercy. How can you even ask when you already stand on the threshold of Salvation? Like the blind man led by God's angel, you have been wandering, you knew not whither, and while you have been thinking yourself lost you suddenly find yourself even at the door of Heaven. A hidden voice has been bidding you to the Lord's Table, and this voice was even the voice of Divine Grace."
Defiance and suspicion fought for the mastery in Leo's soul. The little word "even," which the man interpolated so repeatedly into his sentences, irritated him. After using it he had a habit of pausing, while he smacked his lips, so that however dulcet and consoling his words might be, it gave his delivery an air of dryness. But never for a moment did he abandon the quiet, modest, warmhearted tone with which he had wooed Leo's confidence from the first.
"And, therefore, my dear friend, I may even promise you that to-morrow you will experience a divine miracle. The moment that the sacred chalice touches your lips the trouble you suffer from will be charmed away, and at the same time, the sin which you so earnestly repent will cease to distress you. If you had not intimated this penitence to me I could not speak with such assurance, but now I may bid you welcome as a worthy guest, whose soul is clad in white garments, to God's table."
Leo suppressed a scoffing smile. How unsuspecting and innocent it all sounded!
This worthy man, with his feet on the spotless, scrubbed boards of his house, breathing in the soothing fumes of roasted coffee-berries, tattooing his cheek every afternoon with the impress of the bead-embroidered cushion, what did he know of the depths and tortures of the hell in which he wrestled?