-"

But she turned about and was gone before he could reply. Glory was
ashamed for him. Perhaps she had been taking his part! He felt the blood
mounting to his face, and his cheeks tingling. Glory! His eyes were
swimming, and he dared not look after her; but he could have found it in
his heart to kiss the old bag of bones on the bed.

That night he wrote to the parson in the island: "Glory has left off her
home garments, and now looks more beautiful than ever in the white
simplicity of the costume of the nurse. Her vocation is a great one. God
grant she may hold on to it!" Then something about the fallacy of
ceremonial religion and the impossibility of pleasing God by such
religious formalities. "But if we have publicans and Pharisees now, even
as they existed in Christ's time, all the more service is waiting for
that man for whom life has no ambitions, death no terrors. I thank God I
am in a great measure dead to these things.... I will fulfil my promise
to look after Glory. My constant prayer is against Agag. It is so easy
for him to get a foothold in a girl's heart here. This great new world,
with its fashions, its gaieties, its beauty, and its brightness--no
wonder if a beautiful young girl, tingling with life and ruddy health,
should burn with impatience to fling herself into the arms of it. Agag is
in London, and as insinuating as ever."

VI.

On Sunday morning his fellow-curate came to his room to accompany him to
church. The Rev. Joshua Golightly was a little man with a hook nose,
small keen eyes, scanty hair, and a voice that was something between a
whisper and a whistle. He bowed subserviently, and made meek little
speeches.

"I do trust you will not be disappointed with our church and service. We
do all we can to make them worthy of our people."

As they walked down the streets he talked first of the church
officers--there were honorary wardens, gentlemen sidesmen, and lady
superintendents of floral decorations; then of the choir, which consisted
of organist and choir master, professional members, voluntary members,
and choir secretary. The anthem was sung by a professional singer,
generally the tenor from the opera; the canon could always get such
people--he was a great favourite with artistes and "the profession." Of
course, the singers were paid, and the difficulty this week had been due
to the exorbitant fee demanded by the Italian barytone from Covent
Garden.

Disappointment and disenchant