"Perhaps so," assented the other, whose own earthly feelings were
particularly strong just at that moment.

"Brother Simpson used to forget all about meal-times when he stayed
here," said the housekeeper, clasping her hands. "He used to sit by the
window with his eyes half-closed and shake his head at the smell from the
kitchen and call it flesh-pots of Egypt. He said that if it wasn't for
keeping up his strength for the work, luscious bread and fair water was
all he wanted. I expect Brother Burge will be a similar sort of man."

"Brother Clark wrote and told me that he only lives for the work," said
the jeweller, with another glance at the clock. "The chapel at
Clerkenwell is crowded to hear him. It's a blessed favour and privilege
to have such a selected instrument staying in the house. I'm curious to
see him; from what Brother Clark said I rather fancy that he was a little
bit wild in his younger days."

"Hallelujah!" exclaimed the housekeeper with fervour. "I mean to think
as he's seen the error of his ways," she added sharply, as her master
looked up.

"There he is," said the latter, as the bell rang.

The housekeeper went to the side-door, and drawing back the bolt admitted
the gentleman whose preaching had done so much for the small but select
sect known as the Seventh Day Primitive Apostles. She came back into the
room followed by a tall stout man, whose upper lip and short stubby beard
streaked with grey seemed a poor match for the beady eyes which lurked
behind a pair of clumsy spectacles.