ters, painters, and
musicians, including a panegyric on Michael Angelo and a quotation from
Browning. The sermon concluded with a passage from Dante in the original.

John Storm was dazed and perplexed. When the service was over he came out
alone, returning down the nave, which was now empty but still fragrant.
Among other notices pasted on a board in the porch he found this one:
"The vicar and wardens, having learned with regret that purses have been
lost on leaving the church, recommend the congregation to bring only such
money as they may need for the offertory."

Had he been to the house of God? No matter! God ruled the world in
righteousness and wrought out everything to his own glory.

Next morning he began duty as chaplain at the hospital, and when he had
finished the reading of his first prayers he could see that he had lived
down some of the derision due to his adventure with the old woman. That
poor old bag of bones was sinking and could not last much longer.

Going out by way of the dispensary, he saw Glory again, and heard that
she had been at church the day before. It was lovely. All those hundreds
of nice-looking people in gay colours, with the rustle of silk and the
hum of voices--it was beautiful--it reminded her of the sea in summer. He
asked her what she thought of the sermon, and she said, "Well, it wasn't
religion exactly--not what I call religion--not a 'reg'lar rousing
rampage for sowls,' as old Chalse used to say, but----"

"Glory," he said impetuously, "I'm to preach my first sermon on
Wednesday."

He did not ask her to come, but inquired if she was on night duty. She
answered No, and then somebody called her.

"She'll be there," he told himself, and he walked home with uplifted
head. He would look for her; he would catch her eye; she would see that
it was not necessary to be ashamed of him again.

And then close behind, very close, came recollections of her appearance.
He could reconstruct her new dress by memory--her face was easy to
remember. "After all, beauty is a kind of virtue," he thought. "And all
natural friendship is good for the progress of souls if it is built upon
the love of God."

He wrote nothing and learned nothing by heart. The only preparation he
made for his sermon was thought and prayer. When the Wednesday night came
he was very nervous. But the church was nearly empty, and the vergers,
who were in their everyday clothes, had only partially lit up the nave.
The can