upon him were part and parcel of religion to him.  He thought of the collects and epistles which he had been made to learn by heart, and the long services at the Cathedral through which he had sat when every limb itched with the desire for movement; and he remembered those walks at night through muddy roads to the parish church at Blackstable, and the coldness of that bleak building; he sat with his feet like ice, his fingers numb and heavy, and all around was the sickly odour of pomatum.  Oh, he had been so bored!  His heart leaped when he saw he was free from all that.

He was surprised at himself because he ceased to believe so easily, and, not knowing that he felt as he did on account of the subtle workings of his inmost nature, he ascribed the certainty he had reached to his own cleverness.  He was unduly pleased with himself.  With youth’s lack of sympathy for an attitude other than its own he despised not a little Weeks and Hayward because they were content with the vague emotion which they called God and would not take the further step which to himself seemed so obvious.  One day he went alone up a certain hill so that he might see a view which, he knew not why, filled him always with wild exhilaration.  It was autumn now, but often the days were cloudless still, and then the sky seemed to glow with a more splendid light:  it was as though nature consciously sought to put a fuller vehemence into the remaining days of fair weather.  He looked down upon the plain, a-quiver with the sun, stretching vastly before him:  in the distance were the roofs of Mannheim and ever so far away the dimness of Worms.  Here and there a more piercing glitter was the Rhine.  The tremendous spaciousness of it was glowing with rich gold.  Philip, as he stood there, his heart beating with sheer joy, thought how the tempter had stood with Jesus on a high mountain and shown him the kingdoms of the earth.  To Philip, intoxicated with the beauty of the scene, it seemed that it was the whole world which was spread before him, and he was eager to step down and enjoy it.  He was free from degrading fears and free from prejudice.  He could go his way without the intolerable dread of hell-fire.  Suddenly he realised that he had lost also that burden of responsibility which made every action of his life a matter of urgent consequence.  He could breathe more freely in a lighter air.  He was responsible only to himself for the things he did.  Freedom!  He was his own master at last.  From old habit, unconsciously he thanked God that he no longer believed in Him.

Drunk with pride in his intelligence and in his fearlessness, Philip entered deliberately upon a new life.  But his loss of faith made less difference in his behaviour than he expected.  Though he had thrown on one side the Christian dogmas it never occurred to him to criticise the Christian ethics; he accepted the Christian virtues, and indeed thought it fine to practise them for their own sake, without a thought