im in Dalton Street the day I returned. And it gives me
satisfaction, Mr. Holder, to confess to you freely that he has taught me,
by his life, more of true Christianity than I have learned in all my
experience elsewhere."

"I had thought," exclaimed the rector, wonderingly, "that I owed him more
than any other man."

"There are many who think that--hundreds, I should say," the bishop
replied . . . . "Eldon Parr ruined him, drove him from the church....
It is strange how, outside of the church, his influence has silently and
continuously grown until it has borne fruit in--this. Even now," he
added after a pause, "the cautiousness, the dread of change which comes
with old age might, I think, lead me to be afraid of it if I--didn't
perceive behind it the spirit of Horace Bentley."

It struck Holder, suddenly, what an unconscious but real source of
confidence this thought had likewise been to him. He spoke of it.

"It is not that I wouldn't trust you," the bishop went on. "I have
watched you, I have talked to Asa Waring, I have read the newspapers.
In spite of it all, you have kept your head, you have not compromised the
dignity of the Church. But oh, my friend, I beg you to bear in mind that
you are launched upon deep waters, that you have raised up many enemies
--enemies of Christ--who seek to destroy you. You are still young. And
the uncompromising experiment to which you are pledged, of freeing your
church, of placing her in the position of power and influence in the
community which is rightfully hers, is as yet untried. And no stone will
be left unturned to discourage and overcome you. You have faith,--you
have made me feel it as you sat here,--a faith which will save you from
bitterness in personal defeat. You may not reap the victory, or even see
it in your lifetime. But of this I am sure, that you will be able to
say, with Paul, 'I have planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the
increase.' Whatever happens, you may count upon my confidence and
support. I can only wish that I were younger, that my arm were stronger,
and that I had always perceived the truth as clearly as I see it now."

Holder had risen involuntarily while these words were being spoken. They
were indeed a benediction, and the intensity of his feeling warned him of
the inadequacy of any reply. They were pronounced in sorrow, yet in
hope, and they brought home to him, sharply, the nobility of the bishop's
own sacrifice.

"And you, sir?" he asked.