n she thought of religion as a profession it seemed a selfish thing
anyway. If a man was really bent on so lofty an aim (as her own father
had been) he could not think of himself; he had to give up life and love
and the world, and then these always took advantage of him. But people
had to live in the world for all that, and what was the good of burying
yourself before you were dead?

Somehow her undefined wishes took shape in visions of John Storm, and one
day she heard he was home again. She went out on the hill that evening
and, being seen only by the gulls, she laughed and cried and ran. It was
just like poetry, for there he was himself lying on the edge of the cliff
near the very spot where she had been used to lie. On seeing him she went
more slowly, and began to poke about in the heather as if she had seen
nothing. He came up to her with both hands outstretched, and then
suddenly she remembered that she was wearing her old jersey, and she
flushed up to the eyes and nearly choked with shame. She got better
by-and-bye and talked away like a mill-wheel, and then fearing he might
think it was from something quite different, she began to pull the
heather and to tell him why she had been blushing. He did not laugh at
all. With a strange smile he said something in his deep voice that made
her blood run cold.

"But I'm to be a poor man myself in future, Glory. I've quarrelled with
my father. I'm going into the Church."

It was a frightful blow to her, and the sun went down like a shot. But it
burst open the bars of her cage for all that. After John Storm had found
a curacy in London and taken Orders, he told them at Glenfaba that among
his honorary offices was to be that of chaplain to a great West End
hospital. This suggested to Glory the channel of escape. She would go out
as a hospital nurse. It was easier said than done, for hospital nursing
was fashionable, and she was three years too young. With great labour she
secured her appointment as probationer, and with greater labour still
overcame the fear and affection of her grandfather. But the old parson
was finally appeased when he heard that Glory's hospital was the same
that John Storm was to be chaplain of, and that they might go up to
London together.

III.

"Dear Grandfather Of Me, And Everybody At Glenfaba: Here I am at last,
dears, at the end of my Pilgrim's Progress, and the evening and the
morning' are the first day. It is now eleven o'clock at nigh