e victim not have a faith in God through and in spite of a
disease or a vice?" I said.

"Yes, if he really faces the fact of the evil," said Father Payne; "but he
must not believe in a muddled sort of way, with a sort of abject timidity,
that God may have brought about his weakness or his degradation. He ought
to be quite clear that God wishes him to be free and happy and strong, and
grieves, like Himself, over the miserable limitation. He must have no sort
of doubt that God wishes him to be healthy or clean-minded. Then he can
pray, he can strive for patience, he can fight his fault: he can't do it,
if he really thinks that God allowed him to be born with this horror in his
blood. If God could have avoided evil--I don't mean the sharp sorrows and
trials which have a noble thing behind them, but the ailments of body or
soul that simply debase and degrade--if He could have done without evil,
but let it creep in, then it seems to me a hopeless business, trying to
believe in God's power or His goodness. I believe in the reality of evil,
and I believe too in God with all my heart and soul. But I stand with God
against evil: I don't stand facing God, and not knowing on which side He is
fighting. Everything may not be evil which I think evil: but there are some
sorts of evil--cruelty, selfish lust, spite, hatred, which I believe that
God detests as much as and far more than I detest them. That is what I mean
by a belief, a conviction which I cannot prove, but on which I can and do
act."

"But am I justified in not sharing that belief?" I said.

"Yes," said Father Payne; "if you, in the light of your experience, think
otherwise, you need not believe it--you cannot believe it! But it is the
only interpretation of the facts which sets me free to love God, which I do
not only with heart and soul, but with mind and strength. If I could
believe that God had ever tampered with what I feel to be evil, ever
permitted it to exist, ever condoned it, I could fear Him--I should fear
Him with a ghastly fear--but I could not believe in Him, or love Him as I
do."

L

OF HONOUR

"No, I couldn't do that," said Lestrange to Barthrop, in one of those
unhappy little silences which so often seemed to lie in wait for
Lestrange's most platitudinal utterances. "It wouldn't be consistent with a
sense of honour."

Father Payne gave a chuckle, and Lestrange looked pained, "Oughtn't one to
have a code of honour?" he said.

"Why, certainly