for itself than you'll
do for it. It will settle, like new beer, and come clear enough. That's
what my missus has often said to me, and I know she's right."

But, do what he might, Michael could not in this instance leave it alone.
He cast about incessantly for some device by which he could break his son
loose from the girl. It was all in vain. She might be frivolous, but
there was nothing against her character, and he saw evident signs that if
he attempted any exercise of authority he would lose Robert altogether in
open revolt. For Robert, it must be remembered, had never scattered his
strength in loose love. He had grown up to manhood in perfect innocence,
and all his stored-up passion spent itself in idealising the object which
by chance had provoked it.

Michael one night--it was a Sunday night--he was always worse on Sundays
when he had not been at work--was unable to sleep, and rose and read the
Book. He turned to the Epistle to the Romans, a favourite epistle with
him, and deservedly so, for there we come face to face with the divine
apostle, with a reality unobscured by miracle or myth. And such a
reality! Christianity becomes no longer a marvel, for a man with that
force and depth of experience is sufficient to impose a religion on the
whole human race, no matter what the form of the creed may be. Michael
read in the ninth chapter, "_I could wish that myself were accursed from
Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh_." What did
Paul mean? Accursed from Christ! What _could_ he mean save that he was
willing to be damned to save those whom he loved. Why not? Why should
not a man be willing to be damned for others? The damnation of a single
soul is shut up in itself, and may be the means of saving not only
others, but their children and a whole race. Damnation! It is awful,
horrible; millions of years, with no relief, with no light from the Most
High, and in subjection to His Enemy. "And yet, if it is to save--if it
is to save Robert," thought Michael, "God give me strength--I could
endure it. Did not the Son Himself venture to risk the wrath of the
Father that He might redeem man? What am I? what is my poor self?" And
Michael determined that night that neither his life in this world nor in
the next, if he could rescue his child, should be of any account.

How sublime a thing is this dust or dirt we call man! We grovel in view
of the vast distances of the fixed stars and