By this “poor boy” argument which—­if Hodder had known—­Mr. Parr had used at banquets with telling effect, the banker seemed to regain perspective and equilibrium, to plant his feet once more on the rock of the justification of his life, and from which, by a somewhat extraordinary process he had not quite understood, he had been partially shaken off.  As he had proceeded with his personal history, his manner had gradually become one of the finality of experience over theory, of the forbearance of the practical man with the visionary.  Like most successful citizens of his type, he possessed in a high degree the faculty of creating sympathy, of compelling others to accept —­temporarily, at least—­his point of view.  It was this faculty, Hodder perceived, which had heretofore laid an enchantment upon him, and it was not without a certain wonder that he now felt himself to be released from the spell.

The perceptions of the banker were as keen, and his sense of security was brief.  Somehow, as he met the searching eye of the rector, he was unable to see the man as a visionary, but beheld—­and, to do him justice—­felt a twinge of respect for an adversary worthy of his steel.

He, who was accustomed to prepare for clouds when they were mere specks on his horizon, paused even now to marvel why he had not dealt with this.  Here was a man—­a fanatic, if he liked—­but still a man who positively did not fear him, to whom his wrath and power were as nothing!  A new and startling and complicated sensation—­but Eldon Parr was no coward.  If he had, consciously or unconsciously, formerly looked upon the clergyman as a dependent, Hodder appeared to be one no more.  The very ruggedness of the man had enhanced, expanded—­as it were—­until it filled the room.  And Hodder had, with an audacity unparalleled in the banker’s experience arraigned by implication his whole life, managed to put him on the defensive.

“But if that be your experience,” the rector said, “and it has become your philosophy, what is it in you that impels you to give these large sums for the public good?”

“I should suppose that you, as a clergyman, might understand that my motive is a Christian one.”

Hodder sat very still, but a higher light came into his eyes.

“Mr. Parr,” he replied, “I have been a friend of yours, and I am a friend still.  And what I am going to tell you is not only in the hope that others may benefit, but that your own soul may be saved.  I mean that literally—­your own soul.  You are under the impression that you are a Christian, but you are not and never have been one.  And you will not be one until your whole life is transformed, until you become a different man.  If you do not change, it is my duty to warn you that the sorrow and suffering, the uneasiness which you now know, and which drive you on, in search of distraction, to adding useless sums of money to your fortune —­this suffering, I say, will become intensified.  You will die in the knowledge of it, and live on after, in the knowledge of it.”