chance, and found Him here. What did He wait for?
Nothing; there was nothing that anyone could give, nothing but a load of
shame, the offering of a body spent by passionate days, the kiss of
traitor-lips; but still He waited. He did more than wait. He offered
Himself to it all. He had bound Himself by an oath to be kissed if Judas
planned to kiss Him, and He came through the trees to that bridal with
the dawn of every day. He had foreseen the chalice, foreseen that it
would be filled at every moon and every sun by the bitter gall of
ingratitude and wantonness and hate, but He had pledged Himself--"Even
so, Father"--and He was here to drink it. Small wonder, then, that the
paving on which Peter Graham knelt seemed to swim before his eyes until
it was in truth a moving ocean of love that streamed from the altar and
enclosed of every kind, and even him.

The movement of chairs and the gathering of a bigger congregation than
usual near a chapel that Peter perceived to be for the dead aroused him.
He got up to go. He walked quickly up Victoria Street, and marvelled over
the scene he had left. In sight of Big Ben he glanced up--twenty to nine!
He had been, then, an hour and a half in the cathedral. He recalled
having read that a Mass took half an hour, and he began to reckon how
many persons had heard Mass even while he had been there. Not less than
five hundred at every half-hour, and most probably more. Fifteen hundred
to two thousand souls, of every sort and kind, then, had been drawn in to
that all but silent ceremony, to that showing of Jesus crucified. A
multitude--and what compassion!

Thus he walked home, thinking of many things, but the vision he had seen
was uppermost and would not be displaced. It was still in his eyes as he
entered their bedroom and found Julie looking at a magazine as she lay in
bed, smoking a cigarette.

"Lor', Peter, are you back? I suppose I ought to be up, but I was so
sleepy. What's the time? Why, what's the matter? Where have you been?"

Peter did not go over to her at once as she had expected. It was not that
he felt he could not, or anything like that, but simply that he was only
thinking of her in a secondary way. He walked to the dressing-table and
lifted the flowers she had worn the night before and put there in a
little glass.

"Where have you been, old Solomon?" demanded Julie again.

"Seeing wonders, Julie," said Peter, looking dreamily at the blossoms.

"No? Really? What? Do