sh and blood. Like continuously
advancing waves which sooner or later must undermine a dyke, the
passions and suspicions of his newly awakened nature were sapping the
foundations of his belief.

At intervals he gained a little courage to withstand them, and at such
moments tried to pray; but the effort was futile, for neither would the
accustomed syllables of petition spring to his lips, nor the feelings of
faith and devotion arise within his heart. He strove to convince
himself that this experience was a trial of his faith, and that if he
stood out a little longer, his doubt would pass away. He lifted his head
and glanced at the serpent still coiled upon the hearth. Its eyes were
fixed upon him in a gorgon-like stare, and his doubts became positive
certainties, as disgust became loathing. The battle had ended. The
mystic had been defeated. This sudden collapse had come because the
foundations of his faith had been honeycombed. The innocent serpent had
been, not the cause, but the occasion.

Influences had been at work, of which the Quaker had remained
unconscious. He had been observing, without reflecting upon, many facts
in the lives of other men, experiences in his own heart, and apparent
inconsistencies in the Bible. There was also a virus whose existence he
did not suspect running in his very blood! And now on top of the rest
came the bold skepticism of the quack, and the bewildering beauty of the
gypsy.

Yes, the preliminary work had been done! We never know how rotten the
tree is until it falls, nor how unstable the wall until it crumbles. And
so in the moral natures of men, subtle forces eat their way silently and
imperceptibly to the very center.

A summer breeze overthrows the tree, the foot of a child sets the wall
tottering; a whisper, a smile, even the sight of a serpent, is the jar
that upsets the equilibrium of a soul.

The Quaker rose from his seat in a fever of excitement. He seized the
Bible lying open on the table, hurled it frantically at the snake and
flung himself out of the open door into the sunshine. A wild
consciousness of liberty surged over him.

"I am free," he exclaimed aloud. "I have emancipated myself from
superstition. I am going forth into the world to assert myself, to
gratify my natural appetites, to satisfy my normal desires. It was for
this that life was given. I have too long believed that duty consisted
in conquering nature. I now see that it lies in asserting it. I have to