change for the good."

Theron lifted his brows in unaffected surprise, and put inquiry into his
glance.

"I don't know if Protestants will be saved, in God's good time, or not,"
continued Michael. "I find there are different opinions among the clergy
about that, and of course it is not for me, only a plain mechanic, to be
sure where learned and pious scholars are in doubt. But I am sure about
one thing. Those Protestants, and others too, mind you, who profess
and preach good deeds, and themselves do bad deeds--they will never be
saved. They will have no chance at all to escape hell-fire."

"I think we are all agreed upon that, Mr. Madden," said Theron, with
surface suavity.

"Then I say to you, Mr. Ware, you are yourself in a bad path. Take the
warning of a dying man, sir, and turn from it!"

The impulse to smile tugged at Theron's facial muscles. This was
really too droll. He looked up at the ceiling, the while he forced his
countenance into a polite composure, then turned again to Michael, with
some conciliatory commonplace ready for utterance. But he said nothing,
and all suggestion of levity left his mind, under the searching
inspection bent upon him by the young man's hollow eyes. What did
Michael suspect? What did he know? What was he hinting at, in this
strange talk of his?

"I saw you often on the street when first you came here," continued
Michael. "I knew the man who was here before you--that is, by sight--and