"Oh, I can't bear it, I can't bear it," cried Mrs. Kestern, rocking herself to and fro.
Paul clenched his fists. "You've no right to speak so," he retorted passionately. "How dare you insult Father Vassall in that way? Is it like Christ to talk so? If that is all your evangelicalism can do for you, I am well quit of it."
"So you admit you are quit of it? You turn your back on your father's and mother's faith? You have no use for the Scripture of Truth?"
The boy might, in a saner moment, have caught the tone of invincible bigotry that had crept into his father's words. "Of course I've use for it," retorted Paul again, contemptuously. "Haven't I written a play under its inspiration? But I must make my own judgment on religion."
Mr. Kestern sobered suddenly and terribly. He spoke biting words with slow deliberation. "You must, sir," he said, "only it is blasphemy to speak so of inspiration. And you will be good enough to tell me what is your judgment on the Master Who alone is served in this house."
Paul gazed at him a minute. Phrases rose to his lips. Then he realised how useless they would be. His anger died as quickly as it had arisen. "You would not understand," he said hopelessly.
"I know I have not the new learning of my son," retorted Mr. Kestern bitterly, "but I think I can understand that much. Will you answer a plain question? Are you still on the Lord's side, or not?"
"Of course he is," wept Mrs. Kestern. "Father, how can you ask? Speak, Paul, and tell him you still love and serve the Lord Jesus?"
Mr. Kestern studied his son's face. "Speak, then," he said slowly.
Paul hesitated. Then he drew himself up. "I love and respect and admire Jesus of Nazareth with all my heart," he said. "His teaching it is that has opened my eyes, and his gospel of compassion and brotherliness is as noble as any that the world has yet heard. But I cannot call him God as you do, and as Catholics do."