In this condition of feeling, having one day wandered to a considerable distance from home, he sat down on the greensward to rest; when lo! after he had remained there for some little time musing, as usual, he saw approaching him two shining creatures, who looked like spirits or angels, and as they came up to him they looked at him very earnestly, and one said to the other,

“He is doubting the goodness of God!?”

Then Theodore shuddered, and said, “I am not! once perhaps I did, but not now:  all things happen for the best.”  Yet the Spirit repeated, “He is doubting the goodness of God!” Theodore shuddered again, and cried out “I am not!” for he felt as if it was a heavy accusation.  Whereupon the Spirit continued, “To disbelieve the love of God is to doubt His goodness.”

“No, no,” exclaimed Theodore eagerly, “it is not!  I do not doubt His goodness—­His compassion even for the wretched creatures whom He formed out of dust.  But I—­thoughtless in my youth; self-confident in prosperity; ungrateful and rebellious under affliction; how can such a wretch as I have been, believe in the love of God to me!  God is good and just, but do not talk to me of His Love to man, as if it were possible He could feel for them the tenderness of kind affection!  Who are you?”

Without noticing this question, the Spirit repeated, in emphatic tones, “To disbelieve the Love of God is to doubt His goodness, and deny the perfection of His nature!”

“I tell you, No!” shouted Theodore, wildly:  “It is because of His goodness and because of the perfection of His nature, that I disbelieve the possibility of His Love to the wretched race of man!”

“Judge by your own heart!” exclaimed the Spirit who had not yet spoken.

But when Theodore raised his eyes to look upon her, both had disappeared.  He felt grieved, he knew not why. “My own heart!” he murmured; “ah! my own heart has been the witness against me.  It has taught me the dreadful truth.”

“Truth never yet was found of him who leads a life of selfish misery,” whispered a soft voice receding into the distance; “Theodore!  Judge by your own heart.  Even it may teach you better things!”

Theodore started up and looked hastily around.  He felt as if he could have followed that soft receding voice into eternity.  But there was no one near.  That sound, however, had been like an echo from hopes buried in the grave; and the poor youth sank to the ground on his knees, and, hiding his face in his hands, wept bitterly.  Suddenly one thought took possession of him out of what had been said.  And it was one (as usual) of self-reproach.  The Spirit had reproached him with leading a life of selfish misery!  Vividly impressed by this idea, he started off hurriedly for his home, crying aloud—­“Oh, the wasted time; the lost hours; the precious moments that might have been employed in usefulness!” And thus he pursued his way till he had left the outer country behind him, and had entered the gates that bounded his extensive domain when, all at once, his course was stopped by something he struck against as he was walking quickly along.