it?

When he came to himself he had a vague sense of some one wishing him
good-night. "Oh, good-night, good-night!" he cried with an apologetic
gesture. But he was alone in the room, and on turning about he saw the
bag on the floor, and remembered everything. Then a strange thing
happened. Two conflicting emotions took hold of him at once--the first an
enthusiastic, religious ecstasy, the other a low, criminal cunning.

Everything was intended. He was only the instrument of a fixed purpose.
These clothes were proof of it. They came to his hand at the very moment
when they were wanted, when nothing else would have helped him. And Mrs.
Callender had been the blind agent in a higher hand to carry out the
divine commands. Fly away and hide himself? God did not intend it. A
warrant? No matter if it sent him like Cranmer to the stake. But this was
a different thing entirely, this was God's will and purpose, this----

Yet even while thinking so he laughed an evil laugh, tore the clothes out
of the bag with trembling hands, and made ready to put them on. He had
removed his cassock when some one opened the door.

"Who's there?" he cried in a husky growl.

"Only me," said a timid voice, and Brother Andrew entered, looking pale
and frightened.

"Oh, you! Come in; close the door; I've something to say to you. Listen!
I'm going out, and I don't know when I shall be back. Where's the dog?"

"In the passage, brother."

"Chain him up at the back, lest he should get out and follow me. Put this
cassock away, and if anybody asks for me say you don't know where I've
gone--you understand?"

"Yes; but are you well, Brother Storm? You look as if you had just been
running."

There was a hand-glass on the washstand, and John snatched it up and
glanced into it and put it down again instantly. His nostrils were
quivering, his eyes were ablaze, and the expression of his face was
shocking.

"What are they doing outside? See if I can get away without being
recognised," and Brother Andrew went out to look.

The passage from the chambers under the church was into a dark and narrow
street at the back, but even there a group of people had gathered,
attracted by the lights in the windows. Their voices could be heard
through the door which Brother Andrew had left ajar, and John stood
behind it and listened. They were talking of himself--praising him,
blessing him, telling stories of his holy life and gentleness.

Brother Andrew reported th