"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