pavement, bowing to his patron. I passed him in going out, but the
oily film of subserviency on his face was not broken for an instant.

When I got home I bitterly regretted what had happened. I never regret
anything more than the loss of self-mastery. I had been betrayed, and
yet I could not for the life of me see how the betrayal could have been
prevented. It was upon me so suddenly, that before a moment had been
given me for reflection, the words were out of my mouth. I was
distinctly conscious that the _I_ had not said those words. They had
been spoken by some other power working in me which was beyond my
reach. Nor could I foresee how to prevent such a fall for the future.
The only advice, even now, which I can give to those who comprehend the
bitter pangs of such self-degradation as passion brings, is to watch
the first risings of the storm, and to say "Beware; be watchful," at
the least indication of a tempest. Yet, after every precaution, we are
at the mercy of the elements, and in an instant the sudden doubling of
a cape may expose us, under a serene sky, to a blast which, taking us
with all sails spread, may overset us and wreck us irretrievably.

My connection with the chapel was now obviously at an end. I had no
mind to be dragged before a church meeting, and I determined to resign.
After a little delay I wrote a letter to the deacons, explaining that I
had felt a growing divergence from the theology taught heretofore in
Water Lane, and I wished consequently to give up my connection with
them. I received an answer stating that my resignation had been
accepted; I preached a farewell sermon; and I found myself one Monday
morning with a quarter's salary in my pocket, a few bills to pay, and a
blank outlook.

What was to be done? My first thought was towards Unitarianism, but