for their salvation. It was, he said, both the day of promise and
the day of fulfilment. The anticipation of meeting the bishop flashed
across his mind as he said it. He felt sure that his lordship would
approve of his little alterations.

When the last voluntary had been played, the reverend gentleman sat
in his chair by the altar and watched the congregation filing out
of the church. A great many seemed to be departing, but it was
impossible to tell as yet the number that remained. Mr. Windle had
been so very definite, so confident in his assertion of the number
of communicants. He looked at his watch. The service had taken longer
than usual. He stood up before they had all gone and poured out the
wine into the chalices. From where he had been sitting it was
impossible to see those sides of the church that formed the cross
upon which the foundations had been laid, and so, though only a few
people remained in the centre aisle, he felt no cause for uneasiness.
Mr. Windle had been well assured, and he ought to know.

It was when he stood waiting for the communicants to approach the
altar and saw all the church empty itself into the chancel like a
stream which has been dammed and is set free, that he realized his
mistake.

There were not more than twenty people, and with his own willing and
ready hands he had consecrated all the wine which he had poured out
into the vessel in the vestry. What was the meaning of it? Why had
Mr. Windle told him sixty, or more, when scarcely twenty attended?

He stood waiting in the vestry afterwards with the well-filled
chalice in his hand, tremulously anticipating Mr. Windle's arrival.