do something he could not do,
and when he awoke he became hot as with the memory of a disgrace. And
always at the back of his shame was the thought of Glory.

Next morning he was alone in his room and fumbling the toast on his
breakfast table, when the door opened and a cheery voice cried, "May I no
come in, laddie?"

An elderly lady entered. She was tall and slight and had a long, fine
face, with shrewd but kindly eyes, and nearly snow-white hair.

"I'm Jane Callender," she said, "and I couldna wait for an introduction
or sic bother, but must just come and see ye. Ay, laddie, it was a bonnie
sermon yon! I havena heard the match of it since I came frae Edinburgh
and sat under the good Doctor Guthrie. Now _he_ was nae slavish reader
neither--none of your paper preachers was Thomas. My word, but you gave
us the right doctrine, too! They're given over to the worship of
Beelzebub--half these church-going folks! Oh, these Pharisees! They are
enough to sour milk. I wish they had one neck and somebody would just
squeeze it. Now, where did ye hear that, Jane? But no matter! And the
lasses are worse than the men, with their fashions and foldololls. They
love Jesus, but they like him best in heaven, not bothering down in
Belgravia. But I must be going my ways. I left James on the street, and
there's nae living with the man if you keep his horses waiting.
Good-morning til ye! But eh, laddie, I'm afraid for ye! I'm thinking--I'm
thinking... but come and see me at Victoria Square. Good-morning!"

She had rattled this off at a breath, and had hardly given time for a
reply, when her black silk was rustling down the stairs.

John Storm remembered that the canon had spoken of her. She was the good
woman who kept the home for girls at Soho.

"The good creature only came to comfort me," he thought. But Glory! What
was Glory thinking? That morning after prayers at the hospital he went in
search of her in the out-patient department, but she pretended to be
overwhelmed with work, and only nodded and smiled and excused herself.

"I haven't got a moment this morning either for the king or his dog. I'm
up to my eyes in bandages, and have fourteen plasters on my conscience,
and now I must run away to my little boy whose leg was amputated on
Saturday."

He understood her, but he came back in the evening and was resolved to
face it out.

"What did you think of last night, Glory?" Then she put on a look of
blank amazement.

"Why, what