life, dreaming when he
was lonely of the woman who darned his socks and smiled at him. In
Coryndon's life there was no woman either visionary or real, and he
wondered why he was exempt from these natural dreams of a man. He was
very humble about himself. He knew that he was only a tracker, a brain
that carried a body, not a healthy animal body that controlled the
greater part of a brain. He was given the power to grip motives and to
read hearts, and beyond that he only lived in his fingers when he
played. He had his dreams for company when he shut the door on the other
half of his active brain, and he had his own thrills of excitement and
intense joy when he found what he was seeking, but beyond this there was
nothing, and he asked for nothing. Blue shadows, and a drifting into
peace, that was the end. He pulled himself together abruptly, for it was
five o'clock, and time for him to start.

When Coryndon had drunk some tea, he started out on foot to St. Jude's
Church. He knew that he would get there in time to find the Rev. Francis
Heath. The choir practice did not take very long, and as he walked into
the church they were singing the last verses of a hymn. Heath sat in one
of the choir pews, a sombre figure in his black cassock, listening
attentively.

"Happy birds that sing and fly
Round Thy altars, O Most High."

The choir sang the "Amen," and sang it false, because they were in a
hurry to troop out of the church; the girls were whispering and
collecting gloves and books, and the boys were already clattering off
with an air of relief. Heath spoke to the organist, making some
suggestion in his grave, quiet voice, and when he turned, Coryndon was
standing in the chancel.

"Can I speak to you for a moment?" he asked easily.

"Come into the vestry," said Heath quietly. "We shall be undisturbed
there."

He went down the chancel steps and opened a door at the side, waiting
for Coryndon to go in, and closing the door behind them. A table stood
in the middle of the room with a few books and papers on it, and a
square window lighted it from the western wall; there were only two
chairs in the room, and Heath put one of them near the table for his
visitor, and took the other himself.

He did not know what he expected Coryndon to say; men very rarely came
to him like this, but he felt that it was possible that he was in
search of something true and definite. Truth was in his eyes, and his
dark, fine face was e