climax was, it was to be seen that there was no mistake about the
revelation. The man was a creature of authority and used to carrying
conviction by his unsupported word. That made itself, by some clear,
unspoken method, plain.

"You are Sir Oliver Holt! And a few hours ago you were on the point
of--"

"Ending it all--in an obscure lodging. Afterward the earth would have
been shovelled on to a work-house coffin. It was an awful thing." He
shook off a passionate shudder. "There was no wealth on earth that could
give me a moment's ease--sleep--hope--life. The whole world was full
of things I loathed the sight and thought of. The doctors said my
condition was physical. Perhaps it was--perhaps to-day has strangely
given a healthful jolt to my nerves--perhaps I have been dragged away
from the agony of morbidity and plunged into new intense emotions which
have saved me from the last thing and the worst--SAVED me!"

He stopped suddenly and his face flushed, and then quite slowly turned
pale.

"SAVED ME!" he repeated the words as the curate saw the awed blood
creepingly recede. "Who knows, who knows! How many explanations one is
ready to give before one thinks of what we say we believe. Perhaps it
was--the Answer!"

The curate bowed his head reverently.

"Perhaps it was."