once cast out, and the man’s house is possessed of God instead, then first he findeth his true substantial self, which is the servant, nay, the child of God.  To rid thee of thyself thou must offer it again to him that made it.  Be thou empty that he may fill thee.  I never understood this until these latter days.  Let me impart to thee certain verses I found but yesterday, for they will tell thee better what I mean.  Thou knowest the sacred volume of the blessed George Herbert?’

‘I never heard of him or it,’ said Scudamore.

’It is no matter as now:  these verses are not of his.  Prithee, hearken: 

   ’I carry with, me, Lord, a foolish fool,
      That still his cap upon my head would place. 
    I dare not slay him, he will not to school,
      And still he shakes his bauble in my face.

   ’I seize him, Lord, and bring him to thy door;
      Bound on thine altar-threshold him I lay. 
    He weepeth; did I heed, he would implore;
      And still he cries alack and well-A-day!

   ’If thou wouldst take him in and make him wise,
      I think he might be taught to serve thee well;
    If not, slay him, nor heed his foolish cries,
      He’s but a fool that mocks and rings a bell.’

Something in the lines appeared to strike Scudamore.

‘I thank you, sir,’ he said.  ’Might I put you to the trouble, I would request that you would write out the verses for me, that I may study their meaning at my leisure.’

Mr. Vaughan promised, and, after a little more conversation, took his leave.

Now, whether it was from anything he had said in particular, or that Scudamore had felt the general influence of the man, Dorothy could not tell, but from that visit she believed Rowland began to think more and to brood less.  By and by he began to start questions of right and wrong, suppose cases, and ask Dorothy what she would do in such and such circumstances.  With many cloudy relapses there was a suspicion of dawn, although a rainy one most likely, on his far horizon.

‘Dost thou really believe, Dorothy,’ he asked one day, ’that a man ever did love his enemy?  Didst thou ever know one who did?’

‘I cannot say I ever did,’ returned Dorothy.  ’I have however seen few that were enemies.  But I am sure that had it not been possible, we should never have been commanded thereto.’

’The last time Dr. Bayly came to see me he read those words, and I thought within myself all the time of the only enemy I had, and tried to forgive him, but could not.’

‘Had he then wronged thee so deeply?’

’I know not, indeed, what women call wronged—­least of all what thou, who art not like other women, wouldst judge; but this thing seems to me strange—­that when I look on thee, Dorothy, one moment it seems as if for thy sake I could forgive him anything—­except that he slew me not outright, and the next that never can I forgive him even that wherein he never did me any wrong.’