‘I suppose the reason is because of my choice, is it not?’

‘And what governs choice—­or, if you like, will?’

‘I do, myself.’

’Who are you, and what part of you governs it?  Will cannot govern Will, can it?  And can you divorce will from personality?’

’Tennyson answers your question, Mr. Morell.

     ’"Our wills are ours, we know not how,”

that is the mystery of existence.

     ’"Our wills are ours, to make them Thine,”

that is the mystery of salvation.’

‘Then, Mr. Penrose, I ask you—­why don’t we make our wills God’s?’

Mr. Penrose was silent, and then he made a slip, and played into his opponent’s hands by saying: 

’My faith in a final restitution meets that difficulty.  We shall all be God’s some time; His love is bound to conquer.’

‘Suppose what you call Will defies God’s love, what then?’

‘It cannot.’

‘Then it is no longer will.’

‘Cannot you conceive of Will winning Will?’

’I can conceive of Will, as you define it, defying Will, and that for ever.  But we escape your contradictions; we accept the fact that some men are under a Divine control they cannot resist—­’

‘Then you both agree as to the principle,’ broke in Dr. Hale; ’you are both Calvinists, with this difference:  you, Mr. Morell, say only the few will be called; Mr. Penrose, here, says all will be called.  Let us go in for the larger hope.’

‘You are right, doctor.  I am a Calvinistic Universalist,’ cried Mr. Penrose in triumph.

And Mr. Morell was bound to admit the doctor had scored.

It was not long, however, before Mr. Penrose found a spring of tenderness hidden beneath the crust of Calvinism that lay around the old man’s soul, and on which were written in fiery characters the terrors of a merciless law.  And the rod that smote this rock and tapped the spring was none other than the story of Amanda’s return and repentance, told in part by Dr. Hale and in part by the young pastor himself.

As the story was unfolded, the old man evinced much feeling, often raising his hand to shade fast-filling eyes, or to brush away the tears that fell down his furrowed face.  They told him of Amanda’s silence as to the past, and he commended her for it, remarking to Mr. Penrose that the true penitent seldom talked of the yesterdays of sin; they told him how she counted herself unworthy of home and of love, seeking blame and not welcome from the mother to whom she had returned, and he declared it to be a token of her call; they told him of the great light and peace that fell on her as she rested on the goodness of God, and they heard from him the echo of his Master’s words over Mary—­’She hath loved much, for she hath had much forgiven’; and then they told him of her desire for the restoration of her name on the Rehoboth register, and he was silent—­and for some minutes no sound disturbed his reverie.