y as I said; but
I understand that a lot of people attended early Communion at the
bishop's service in Maidstone. You see, it is not often that he comes,
and they like to have his lordship."

"But this is consecrated wine."

"Ah--well--there's not much, I suppose. Is there?"

Mr. Windle looked casually into the chalice. "Oh, there is a good
deal. What are you going to do?"

"I shall have to call upon you for your assistance."

"Mine?"

"Yes; I couldn't drink all this myself. I'm not accustomed to taking
wine. As much as this would--I am afraid--go to my head." His face
was now twitching convulsively. "Especially on a--a somewhat--empty
stomach."

"But it's no good asking me," said Mr. Windle.

"Why not? You have just been a communicant? Under extraordinary
circumstances like this, I am expected to call upon some one who has
communicated, reverently, to assist me."

"Ah, yes; that is all very well--so long as you do not enforce any
one whom you may choose to break their own most rigid principles.
I'm a total abstainer, you see. Even--er--at the altar--I--I--only
permit the wine to touch my tongue, as I hold every communicant should
do. But you want me actually to drink this. As much liquid as, I assure
you, I should take with a meal. Again, I have taken the pledge--"

"But, my dear Mr. Windle, in such an exceptional circumstance as
this--"

"I have openly taken the pledge," Mr. Windle repeated
conclusively--"I'm very sorry. I'm afraid, too, that the sacristan
has gone. But I think the organ blower was there when I came in; I
fancy I heard him."

"Ah, yes; but he was not at Communion."

"Of course not--then I'm sorry. I shall be sure to see some one who
was, and I'll send them along. We shall see you up at the house soon.
Don't be long--you'll forgive my going on ahead, but I'm afraid his
lordship may have arrived already. I'll send you any one if I see
them. And I'm bound to meet somebody. They haven't been gone very
long."

He had gone. The Rev. Samuel was left alone with the half-filled
goblet of noxious wine in his hand. For some moments he continued
to stand in the same position, looking down into the crimson depth
of liquid that lay, scintillating lazily, in the silver bowl.

At last he raised it to his lips and sipped it--once, twice, three
times. Then he waited. "Wine to make glad the heart of man." The words
came to his mind. Wine was a terrible power, a fascinating evil. He
thanked God that