Something within him said that he
ought to have gone further; that he ought to have singled out the
Major, Caillaud, and Pauline; held them fast, looked straight into
their eyes, and told them each one there and then that they were in
the bonds of iniquity, sold unto Satan, and in danger of hell-fire.
But, alas! he was at least a century and a half too late. He
struggled, wrestled, self against self, and failed, not through want
of courage, but because he wanted a deeper conviction. The system
was still the same, even to its smallest details, but the application
had become difficult. The application, indeed, was a good deal left
to the sinner himself. That was the difference. Phrases had been
invented or discovered which served to express modern hesitation to
bring the accepted doctrine into actual, direct, week-day practice.
It was in that way that it was gradually bled into impotence. One of
these phrases came into his mind. It was from his favourite author:
"'Who art thou that judgest?' It is not for me, Major Maitland."
Ah, but, Zachariah, do you not remember that Paul is not speaking of
those who deny the Lord, but of the weak in faith; of differences in
eating and drinking, and the observation of days? Whether he
remembered it or not, he could say no more.
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