portant as it was a possible road to heaven.
She impressed this upon both of us by every word and action--instant in
season and out of season, so that she might but fill us more deeply with
a sense of the things belonging to our peace.

But the inevitable consequences happened; my mother had aimed too high
and had overshot her mark. The influence indeed of her guileless and
unworldly nature remained impressed upon my brother even during the time
of his extremest unbelief (perhaps his ultimate safety is in the main
referable to this cause, and to the happy memories of my father, which
had predisposed him to love God), but my mother had insisted on the most
minute verbal accuracy of every part of the Bible; she had also dwelt
upon the duty of independent research, and on the necessity of giving up
everything rather than assent to things which our conscience did not
assent to. No one could have more effectually taught us to try _to
think_ the truth, and we had taken her at her word because our hearts
told us that she was right. But she required three incompatible things.
When my brother grew older he came to feel that independent and
unflinching examination, with a determination to abide by the results,
would lead him to reject the point which to my mother was more important
than any other--I mean the absolute accuracy of the Gospel records. My
mother was inexpressibly shocked at hearing my brother doubt the
authenticity of the Epistle to the Hebrews; and then, as it appeared to
him, she tried to make him violate the duties of examination and candour
which he had learnt too thoroughly to unlearn. Thereon came pain and an
estrangement which was none the less profound for being mutually
concealed. It seemed to my mother that he would not give up the
wilfulness of his own opinions for her and for his Redeemer's sake. To
him it seemed that he was ready to give up not only his mother but Christ
Himself for Christ's sake.

This estrangement was the gradual work of some five or six years, during
which my brother was between eleven and seventeen years old. At
seventeen, I am told that he was remarkably well informed and clever. His
manners were, like my father's, singularly genial, and his appearance
very prepossessing. He had as yet no doubt concerning the soundness of
any fundamental Christian doctrine, but his mind was already too active
to allow of his being contented with my mother's childlike faith. There
were po