God only knows whether I haven't been breaking every one of the commandments I used to read to them every Sunday." "But God does know, sir," said the curate, with even more than his usual respect in his tone, "and that is well, for otherwise we might go on breaking them forever." The rector gave him a sudden look, full in the face, but said nothing, seemed to fall a thinking, and for some time was silent.
"There's one thing clear," he resumed: "I've been taking pay, and doing no work.

I used to think I was at least doing no harm--that I was merely using one of the privileges of my position: I not only paid a curate, but all the repair the church ever got was from me.

Now, however, for the first time, I reflect that the money was not given me for that.
Doubtless it has been all the better for my congregation, but that is only an instance of the good God brings out of evil, and the evil is mine still.

Then, again, there's all this property my wife brought me: what have I done with that?
The kingdom of heaven has not come a hair's-breadth nearer for my being a parson of the Church of England; neither are the people of England a shade the better that I am one of her land-owners.

It is surely time I did something, Wingfold, my boy!" "I think it is, sir," answered the curate.
"Then, in God's name, what am I to do ?" returned the rector, almost testily.
"Nobody can answer that question but yourself, sir," replied Wingfold.
"It's no use my trying to preach.