I'm going
to-night to see if they hold the usual service in his church."

"May I go with you?"

"If you wish to, but it will be useless--he won't be there."

"Why not?"

"The Prime Minister left London last night--I can't help thinking there
is something in that."

"He will be there, Rosa. He's not the man to run away. I know him," said
Glory proudly.

The church was crowded, and it was with difficulty they found seats.
John's enemies were present in force--all the owners of vested interests
who had seen their livelihood threatened by the man who declared war on
vice and its upholders. There was a dangerous atmosphere before the
service began, and, notwithstanding her brave faith in him, Glory found
herself praying that John Storm might not come. As the organ played and
the choir and clergy entered the excitement was intense, and some of the
congregation got on to their seats in their eagerness to see if the
Father was there. He was not there. The black cassock and biretta in
which he had lately preached were nowhere to be seen, and a murmur of
disappointment passed over friends and enemies alike.

Then came a disgraceful spectacle. A man with a bloated face and a
bandage about his forehead rose in his place and cried, "No popery,
boys!" Straightaway the service, which was being conducted by two of the
clerical brothers from the Brotherhood, was interrupted by hissing,
whistling, shouting, yelling, and whooping indescribable. Songs were
roared out during the lessons, and cushions, cassocks, and prayer-books
were flung at the altar and its furniture. The terrified choir boys fled
downstairs to their own quarters, and the clergy were driven out of the
church.

John's own people stole away in terror and shame, but Glory leaped to her
feet as if to fling herself on the cowardly rabble. Her voice was lost in
the tumult, and Rosa drew her out into the street.

"Is there no law in the land to prevent brawling like this?" she cried,
but the police paid no heed to her.

Then the congregation, which had broken up, came rushing out of the
church and round to the door leading to the chambers beneath it.

"They've found him," thought Glory, pressing her hand over her heart. But
no, it was another matter. Immediately afterward there rose over the
babel of human voices the deep music of the bloodhound in full cry. The
crowd shrieked with fear and delight, then surged and parted, and the dog
came running through with its