"But, Father, this is so extraordinary, so impossible, so"--

"Miss Morison is to be in Boston in a couple of days. Mrs. Wilson will
let us know when she arrives. I know how strange this looks to you, and
how repugnant it must be. Do you think that it is any less hateful to
me? Do you think that it is easy for me to be working for what is to be
my own personal exaltation if we succeed? I give you my word, Wynne,
that the severest sacrifice that any one can be called on to make in
this matter is that which I make when I take these steps toward putting
myself in office. I am not naturally humble, and it humiliates me to
the very soul; but I do what seems to me to be for the good of the
church, and try to put my personal feeling entirely out of the matter.
It is for you to do the same."

It was impossible for Maurice to doubt the sincerity with which this
was said. He had no answer to give.

"Go now, my son," the Father concluded, "and do not forget to thank God
that the weakness of your heart may be turned into a means by which the
church may be served."

Maurice retired to his room in a whirl of conflicting thoughts. He was
summoned almost immediately to vespers and complines. The familiar
ritual soothed him, and he was able to join in the chants in much the
old way. His feeling was that he would gladly have had the service last
into the night. He would have liked to go on with this half emotional,
half mechanical devotion, which kept him from thinking, and which put
off the dreaded hour when he must face the proposition which had been
made to him.