He had now risen to a position of great importance in the Chapel; it
was known that he disagreed profoundly with his leader on some vital
questions, and it was thought that he might at a later date definitely
secede and conduct a party of his own.

Certainly he had exceptional energies and gifts of exhortation and
invective not to be despised. Martin politely wished him "Good evening"
and escaped to his room.

As he changed his clothes he tried to translate into definite facts his
vague discomfort. One, he hated that swine Thurston. Two, Amy was vexed
with him (What strange impossible creatures women were!). Third--and by
far the most important of them all--his father wanted to talk to him.
He knew very well that this talk had been preparing for him ever since
his return from abroad. He dreaded it. Oh! he dreaded it most horribly!

He loved his father but with a love that had in it elements of fear,
timidity, every possible sort of awkwardness. Moreover he was helpless.
Ever since that first day when as a tiny child of four or five he had
awakened to behold that figure, enormous in a long night-shirt,
summoning God in the middle of the night with a candle flickering
fantastic shadows on to the wall behind them, Martin had been weak as
putty in his father's hands. Against other men he could stand up;
against that strange company of fears, affections, superstitions,
shadowy terrors, dim expectations that his father presented to him he
could do nothing.

Well--that conversation had to come some time. He must show that he was
a man now, moulded by the world with his own beliefs, purposes,
resolves. But if he did not love him, how much easier it would be!

When he went downstairs he found the old man in the little pink
drawing-room--he looked tired and worn. Martin remembered with alarm
the things that he had heard recently about his father's heart. He
glanced up and the older man's hand fastened on his shoulder; they
stood there side by side. After a few minutes they all went in to
supper.

Mr. Thurston's nose was flushed with the success of the mission from
which he had just returned. He had been one of a number whose aim it
had been during the preceding week to bring light and happiness into
the lives of the inhabitants of Putney. They had been obviously
appreciated, as the collection for the week had amounted to between
seventy and eighty pounds. A proper share of this fine result Mr.
Thurston naturally appropr