fully he included himself among those aware of sin, very humbly he
declared the unworthiness of any man to set himself up as a teacher and
leader of others.

Now, humility is all very well, but if carried to excess, it suggests
something less than a man. Mr. Harding almost cringed before his
congregation. Malling did not feel that his humility was a pretense.
On the contrary, it struck him as abominably real, but so excessive as
to be not natural in any thorough man in a normal condition of mind and
of body. It was the sort of humility that creates in the unregenerate a
desire to offer a good kicking as a corrective.

Very different was the effect created by Chichester's sermon in the
evening. Malling, aware though he had become of the great strengthening
of Chichester, was amazed when he heard him preach.

Often it is said of a very fine preacher that he preached as one
inspired. Chichester preached as one who knew. Never before had Malling
been so impressed with the feeling that he was listening to truth,
absolute truth, as he was while he listened to Chichester. There was
something, though, that was almost deadly about it. It pierced like a
lancet. It seared like a red-hot iron. It humbled almost too much.
Here was no exaggerated humility, no pleading to be borne with, no
cringing, and no doubt. A man who knew was standing up, and, with a
sort of indifference to outside opinion that was almost frightening,
was saying some of the things he knew about men, women--and surely God!

The subject was somewhat akin to that of the first sermon of Mr. Harding
which Malling had heard. The rector then had preached on self-knowledge.
The curate, now, preached on hypocrisy. Incidentally he destroyed his
rector's sermon, flung it away on the scrap-heap, and passed on. This was
not done viciously, but it was done relentlessly. Indeed, that was the
note of the whole sermon. It was relentless, as truth is relentless, as
death is relentless. And besides being terribly true, it was imaginative.
But the preacher almost succeeded in conveying the impression to his
congregation that what is generally called imagination is really vision,
that the true imagination is seeing what is, but is often hidden, knowing
what is, but is often unknown. The latter part of the sermon struck
Malling as very unusual, even as very daring.

The preacher had spoken of the many varieties of hypocrisy. Finally he
drew a picture of a finished hypocrite. And