Mr. Morell was tall and erect, with a fine Greek head whose crown
of snowy hair lent dignity to a face sunny with the light of
kindness, while every line of expression, those soul-inscriptions
written by the years on the plastic flesh, told of thought and
culture. The accent, too, was finished, and every gesture betrayed
refinement and ease.

At first the conversation was restrained, for both men
instinctively felt that between them lay a gulf which it would be
difficult to bridge; but, as Dr. Hale played well the part of
middleman, the ministers were drawn out towards each other, and in
a little while struck mutual chords in one another's hearts.

During the morning the two men talked of art, of philosophy, and
of history, the discussion of these calling out a light of
intelligence and rapture on the old man's face. When, however, the
graver questions of theology were broached, his voice became hard
and inflexible, a shadow fell, and the radiancy of the man and
scholar became lost in the gloom of the divine.

Whenever Mr. Penrose ventured to hint on some phase of the broader
theology, the old man was provoked to impatience; and when he went
so far as to quote Browning, and declare that--

'The loving worm within its clod
Were diviner than a loveless god
Amid his worlds,'

a gleam of fire shot from the mild eye of Mr. Morell, significant