His desire had rather been that he might be led into temptation.
He had never so prayed--yet had he daily said his prayers at fitting intervals.

On every returning Sunday had he gone through, with all the fitting forms, the ordinary worship of a Christian.
Nor had he done this as a hypocrite.

With due attention and a full belief he had weekly knelt at God's temple, and given, if not his mind, at least his heart, to the service of his church.
But the inner truth of the prayer which he repeated so often had not come home to him.

Alas! how many of us from week to week call ourselves worms and dust and miserable sinners, describe ourselves as chaff for the winds, grass for the burning, stubble for the plough, as dirt and filth fit only to be trodden under foot, and yet in all our doings before the world cannot bring home to ourselves the conviction that we require other guidance than our own! Alaric Tudor had sighed for permission to go forth among worldlings and there fight the world's battle.

Power, station, rank, wealth, all the good things which men earn by tact, diligence, and fortune combined, and which were so far from him at his outset in life, became daily more dear to his heart.