fault generally lay in his premisses, which were often wild assumptions;
not in his subsequent argument, which was cogent, logical, and admirably
quick at finding weak points in his adversary's armour. At the same time
he was wholly placable. No one could so banish and obliterate from his
mind the impression of the harshest and fiercest arguments. The
effervescence of his mind subsided as quickly as it arose. And my whole
recollection of the period is that he was in a state of great mental and
spiritual excitement, and that he was experiencing to the full the joys
of combat and action.

While the interest of composition lasted, he remained at home, but the
book was soon done. He was still using the oratory in the house for
celebrations, and I believe that he occasionally helped in the services
of the parish church. The last time I actually heard him preach was at
the previous Christmas, when the sermon seemed to me both tired and
hard, as of one whose emotions were strained by an interior strife.

Among his diversions at this time he painted, on the casement windows of
the oratory, some figures of saints in water-colour. The designs were
quaint, but in execution they were the least successful things he ever
did; while the medium he employed was more apt to exclude light than to
tinge it.

These strange figures became known in the village as "Mrs. Benson's
dolls." They were far more visible from outside than from within, and
they looked like fantastic puppets leaning against the panes. What use
my mother was supposed to make of them, or why she piled her dolls, tier
above tier, in an upper window was never explained. Hugh was very
indignant when their artistic merit was called in question, but later on
he silently effaced them.