Marcus Clarke

“ Rufus Dawes shifted himself on the wooden bench, and resting his scarcely-healed back against the wall, smiled bitterly. "Don't be afraid, sir; I am not going to harm you," he said. "I only wanted to talk a little."
"Do you read your Bible, Dawes?" asked Meekin, by way of reply. "It would be better to read your Bible than to talk, I think. You must humble yourself in prayer, Dawes."
"I have read it," said Dawes, still lying back and watching him.
"But is your mind softened by its teachings? Do you realize the Infinite Mercy of God, Who has compassion, Dawes, upon the greatest sinners?" ”

“ All the material horrors of Meekin's faith—stripped, by force of dissociation from the context, of all poetic feeling and local colouring—were launched at the suffering sinner by Meekin's ignorant hand. The miserable man, seeking for consolation and peace, turned over the leaves of the Bible only to find himself threatened with "the pains of Hell", "the never-dying worm", "the unquenchable fire", "the bubbling brimstone", the "bottomless pit", from out of which the "smoke of his torment" should ascend for ever and ever. ”

“ Rufus Dawes felt his heart grow sick. North had gone, then. The only man who had seemed to have a heart in his bosom had gone. The only man who had dared to clasp his horny and blood-stained hand, and call him "brother", had gone. ”