ne. John was sitting at his meal,
eating his food with his eyes down and hardly conscious of what was going
on around, when he became aware that from time to time people opened the
room door and looked across at him, then whispered together and passed
out. At length the clerk came up to him with awkward manners and a look
of constraint.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but--are you Father Storm?"

John bent his head.

"Then I'm sorry to say we can not accommodate you--we dare not--we must
request you to leave."

John rose without a word, paid his bill, and left the place.

But where was he to go to? What house would receive him? If one hotel
refused him, all other hotels in London would do the same. Then he
remembered the shelter which he had himself established for the
undeserving poor. The humiliation of that moment was terrible. But no
matter! He would drink the cup of God's anger to the dregs.

The lamp was burning in the clock tower of the Houses of Parliament, and
as John passed by the corner of Palace Yard two Bishops came out in
earnest conversation, and walked on in front of him.

"The State and the Church are as the body and soul," said one, "and to
separate them would be death to both."

"Just that," said the other, "and therefore we must fight for the
Church's temporal possessions as we should contend for her spiritual
rights; and so these Benefice Bills----"

The shelter was at the point of closing, and Jupe was putting out the
lamp over the door as John stepped up to him.

"Who is it?" said Jupe in the dark.

"Don't you know me, Jupe?" said John.

"Father Jawn Storm!" cried the man in a whisper of fear.

"I want shelter for the night, Jupe. Can you put me up anywhere?"

"You, sir?"

The man was staggered and the long rod in his hand shook like a reed.
Then he began to stammer something about the Bishop and the Archdeacon
and his new orders and instructions--how the shelter had been taken over
by other authorities, and he was now----

"But d--- it all!" he said, stopping suddenly, putting his foot down
firmly, and wagging his head to right and left like a man making a brave
resolution, "I'll tyke ye in, sir, and heng it!"

It was the bitterest pill of all, but John swallowed it, and stepped into
the house. As he did so he was partly aware of some tumult in a
neighbouring street, with the screaming of men and women and the barking
of dogs.

The blankets had been served out for the night and t