_They_ believed in me still:--was I worthy of it?
I thought not.
I doubted myself.

Understand, I had no fear of making any new false step in the eyes of the world; or of plunging anew into the dissipations and riotous living of so-called "life," in return for which I was now eating the husks of voluntary exile: young as I was, I had already learnt a bitter lesson of the hollowness and deception of all this! It was another dread which haunted me.
The vicar had, without in any way making light of them, condoned my misdeeds, telling me that there was more joy in heaven over one repentant sinner, than for ninety-and-nine just persons that had never offended: while, my darling--she who had the most cause to turn from me, the greatest right to condemn--had forgiven me; and bidden me to look forward to the future, with the hopeful assurance that she was certain that I would never give her reason again to doubt her faith in me.
But, the fatherly affection of the one, the devoted confidence of the other, merited some greater return on my part than mere "uprightness of life,"-- in the worldly sense of the expression! Surely, they did?
A man's words and actions may be above reproach, as far as society is concerned; and yet, he may not have a particle of true religion about him.

Both the vicar and Min, however, were earnest Christians.

They were deeply religious, without a suspicion of cant or affectation; and they wished me to be so, too.

I had promised to pray to please them; but, had I kept my promise?
No, I had failed:--my conscience told me so! As long as things had gone smoothly with me, I believe I _did_ pray-- with the faith that my petitions were heard above; but, when dark days came, God seemed to forsake me, and my prayers were cast back into my own bosom.