a long time, it took a year, and both the process and the result
would have been--for any who knew--a vivid picture of his good
faith. No one did know, in fact--no one but the bland
ecclesiastics whose acquaintance he had promptly sought, whose
objections he had softly overridden, whose curiosity and sympathy
he had artfully charmed, whose assent to his eccentric munificence
he had eventually won, and who had asked for concessions in
exchange for indulgences. Stransom had of course at an early stage
of his enquiry been referred to the Bishop, and the Bishop had been
delightfully human, the Bishop had been almost amused. Success was
within sight, at any rate from the moment the attitude of those
whom it concerned became liberal in response to liberality. The
altar and the sacred shell that half encircled it, consecrated to
an ostensible and customary worship, were to be splendidly
maintained; all that Stransom reserved to himself was the number of
his lights and the free enjoyment of his intention. When the
intention had taken complete effect the enjoyment became even
greater than he had ventured to hope. He liked to think of this
effect when far from it, liked to convince himself of it yet again
when near. He was not often indeed so near as that a visit to it
hadn't perforce something of the patience of a pilgrimage; but the
time he gave to his devotion came to seem to him more a
contribution to his other interests than a betrayal of them. Even
a loaded life might be easier when one had added a new necessity to
it.

How much easier was probably never guessed by those who simply knew
there were hours when he disappeared and for many of whom there was
a vulgar reading of what they used to call his plunges. These
plunges were into depths quieter than the deep sea-caves, and the