in a gentle tone, and grieved at having afforded him a subject of
scandal; "this is not a great, ugly book, and for the few days that
I have left off reading it, I find myself much worse. If your
mother would let you stay with me a little while, you would see that
I know how to get rid of my ill-humour. If you knew how hard it was
to be in good humour, when left so long alone, and when you hear me
singing and talking like a madman, you would not call this a great
ugly book."



CHAPTER XXV.



The boy left me, and I felt a sort of pleasure at having taken the
Bible again in my hands, more especially at having owned I had been
worse for having neglected it. It seemed as if I had made atonement
to a generous friend whom I had unjustly offended, but had now
become reconciled to. Yes! I had even forgotten my God! I
exclaimed, and perverted my better nature. Could I have been led to
believe that the vile mockery of the cynic was applicable to one in
my forlorn and desperate situation?

I felt an indescribable emotion on asking myself this question; I
placed the Bible upon a chair, and, falling on my knees, I burst
into tears of remorse: I who ever found it so difficult to shed
even a tear. These tears were far more delightful to me than any
physical enjoyment I had ever felt. I felt I was restored to God, I
loved him, I repented of having outraged religion by degrading