"I understand him perfectly," said Helbeck, smiling; and he added immediately, with a curious intensity, "I, too, have never influenced, never tried to influence, anyone in my life."
The priest looked at him, wondering.
"Not Williams?"
"Williams! But Williams was born for the faith. Directly he saw what I wanted to do in the chapel, he prayed to come and help me. It was his summer holiday—he neglected no duty; it was wonderful to see his happiness in the work—as I thought, an artistic happiness only. He used to ask me questions about the different saints; once or twice he borrowed a book—it was necessary to get the emblems correct. But I never said a single controversial word to him. I never debated religious subjects with him at all, till the night when he took refuge with me after his father had thrashed him so cruelly that he could not stand. Grace taught him, not I."
"Grace taught him, but through you," said the priest with quiet emphasis.
"Perhaps I know more about that than you do."
Helbeck flushed.
"I think you are mistaken. At any rate, I should prefer that you were mistaken."
The priest raised his eyebrows.
"A man who holds 'no salvation outside the Church,'" he said slowly, "and rejoices in the thought that he has never influenced anybody?"
"I should hope little from the work achieved by such an instrument. Some men have enough to do with their own souls," was the low but vehement answer.