e more faith in
St. Benedict and his Holy Rule. But I have no vocation for the
contemplative life. I don't feel that my prayers are good enough to
save my own soul, let alone the souls of others. I _must_ give
Jesus Christ to my fellow-men in the Blessed Sacrament. I long to
be a priest for that service. I don't feel that I want by my own
efforts to make people better, or to relieve poverty, or to thunder
against sin, or to preach them up to and through Heaven's gates. I
want to give them the Blessed Sacrament, because I know that
nothing else will be the slightest use to them. I know it more
positively to-night than I have ever known it, because as I sit
here writing to you I am starved. God has given me the grace to
understand why I am starved. It is my duty to bring Our Lord to
souls who do not know why they are starved. And if after nearly two
years of Malford this passion to bring the Sacraments to human
beings consumes me like a fire, then I have not wasted my time, and
I can look you in the face and ask for your blessing upon my
determination to be a priest.

Your ever affectionate

Mark.

When Mark had written this letter, and thus put into words what had
hitherto been a more or less nebulous intention, and when in addition to
that he had affixed a date to the carrying out of his intention, he felt
comparatively at ease. He wasted no time in letting the Father Superior
know that he was going to leave; in fact he told him after he had
confessed to him before making his Communion on Easter Thursday.

"I'm sorry to lose you, my dear boy," said Father Burrowes. "Very sorry.
We are just going to open a priory in London, though that is a secret
for the moment, please. I shall make the announcement at the Easter
Chapter. Yes, some kind friends have given us a house in Soho.
Splendidly central, which is important for our work. I had planned that
you would be one of the brethren chosen to go there."

"It's very kind of you, Reverend Father," said Mark. "But I'm sure that
you understand my anxiety not to lose any time, now that I feel
perfectly convinced that I want to be a priest."

"I had my doubts about you when you first came to us. Let me see, it was
nearly two years ago, wasn't it? How time flies! Yes, I had my doubts
about you. But I was wrong. You seem to possess a real fixity of
purpose. I remember that you told