stepped back to
the corridor and closed the door.

"This next cell," said the Father, "is occupied by such a one as you were
thinking of--one who was born to possess the world and to achieve its
sounding triumphs, but----"

"Has he given it up entirely?"

"Entirely."

"Is he young?"

"Quite young, and he has left the world, not as Augustine did, after
learning by bitter experience the deceitfulness of sin----"

"Then why is he here?"

"He can not trust himself yet. He feels the inward strivings and
struggles of our rebellious nature and----"

"Then his solitude and silence are voluntary?"

"Now they are. See," said the Father, and stooping to the floor he picked
up a key that lay at his feet.

"What does that mean?"

"He locks himself in and pushes the key under the door."

When they entered the cell John Storm was standing by the window in a
stream of morning sunlight, looking out on the world below with fixed and
yearning eyes.

"This is our Visitor," said the Father. "The rule of silence is relaxed
in his case."

"Have I not seen you before?" said the Bishop.

"I think not, Father," said John.

"What is your name, and where did you live before you came here?"

John told him.

"Then I have both seen and heard you. But I perceive that the world has
gone on a little since you left it--your canon is an archdeacon now, and
one of the chaplains to the Queen as well. How long have you been in the
Brotherhood?"

"Since the 14th of August."

"And how long have you kept your cell?"

"Since the octave of Epiphany."

"But this is Lent--rather a long penance, Father."

"I have often urged our dear brother----" began the Father.

"You carry your fastings and prayers too far, Mr. Storm," said the
Bishop. He was picking up one by one some black-letter books that were
lying on the table and on the bed. "I know that divines in all ages tell
us that the body is evil, and that its desires and appetites must be
eradicated. But they also teach us that the perfect Christian character
is the blending of the two lives, the life of Nature and the life of
grace. Don't despise your humanity, my son. Your Master did not despise
it. He came down from heaven that he might live and work among the sinful
brotherhood of man. And don't pray for death, or fast as if you wished
for it. You would have no right to do that even if you were like your
poor neighbour next door, whom Death smiles on and beckons to repose. But