f this bad connection."

"You are unreasonable. I can not promise."

"Promise that you will never see these men again."

"But I must see Mr. Drake at once and arrange about Polly."

"Don't mention the man's name again; it makes my blood boil to hear you
speak it!"

"But this is tyranny; and you are worse than the canon; and I can not
bear it."

"Very well; as you will. It's of no use struggling--What is the time?"

"Six o'clock nearly."

"I must see the canon before he goes to dinner."

His manner had changed suddenly. He looked crushed and benumbed.

"I am going now." he said, turning aside.

"So soon? When shall I see you again?"

"God knows!--I mean--I don't know," he answered in a helpless way.

He was looking around, as if taking a mental farewell of everything.

"But we can not part like this," she said. "I think you like me a little
still, and----"

Her supplicating voice made him look up into her face for a moment. Then
he turned away, saying, "Good-bye, Glory." And with a look of utter
exhaustion he went out of the room.

Glory walked to a window at the end of the corridor that she might see
him when he crossed the street. There was just a glimpse of his back as
he turned the corner with a slow step and his head on his breast. She
went back crying.

"I could fancy a fresh herring for supper, dear," said Polly. "What do
you say, housekeeper?"

John Storm went back to the canon's house a crushed and humiliated man.
"I can do no more," he thought. "I will give it up." His old influence
with Glory must have been lost. Something had come between
them--something or some one. "Anyhow it is all over and I must go away
somewhere."

To go on seeing Glory would be useless. It would also be dangerous. As
often as he was face to face with her he wanted to lay hold of her and
say, "You must do this and this, because it is my wish and direction and
command, and it is _I_ that say so!" In the midst of God's work how
subtle were the temptations of the devil!

But with every step that he went plodding home there came other feelings.
He could see the girl quite plainly, her fresh young face, so strong and
so tender, so full of humour and heart's love, and all the sweet beauty
of her form and figure. Then the old pain in his breast came back again
and he began to be afraid.

"I will take refuge in the Church," he thought. In prayer and penance and
fasting he would find help and consolation. The Church wa