directly in
their course there slid toward them two great patches of dark,
divided by a luminous stream in the middle.

"What is it? What is it?" he stammered.

The priest seemed not to notice his agitation; he just passed his
hand quietly into the trembling man's elbow.

"Yes," he said, "there are houses all the way to Brighton now, of
course, and we go straight down the track. We shall take in
passengers at Brighton, I think."

There was a step behind them.

"Good evening, Monsignor," said a voice. "It's a lovely night."

The prelate turned round, covered with confusion, and saw a man
in uniform saluting him deferentially.

"Ah! captain," slipped in the priest. "So we're crossing with
you, are we?"

"That's it, father. The _Michael_ line's running this week."

"It's a wonderful thing to me----" began Monsignor, but a sharp
pressure on his arm checked him--"how you keep the whole
organization going," he ended lamely.

The captain smiled.

"It's pretty straightforward," he said. "The _Michael_ line runs the
first week of every month; the _Gabriel_ the second, and so on."

"Then----"

"Yes," put in Father Jervis. "Whose idea was it to dedicate the
lines to the archangels? I forget."

"Ah! that's ancient history to me, father. . . . Excuse me,
Monsignor; I think I hear my bell." he wheeled, saluting
again, and was off.

"Do you mean---?" began Monsignor.

"Of course," said Father Jervis, "everything runs on those lines
now. You see we're matter-of-fact, and it's really rather
obvious, when you think of it, to dedicate the volor lines to
the angels. We've been becoming more and more obvious for the
last fifty years. . . . By the way, Monsignor, you must take
care not to give yourself away. You'd better not ask many
questions except of me."

Monsignor changed the subject.

"When shall we get to Paris?" he asked.

"We shall be a little late, I think, unless they make up time.
We're due at three. I hope there won't be any delay at Brighton.
Sometimes on windy nights----"

"I suppose the descending and the starting again takes some time."

The priest laughed.

"We don't descend at places _en route_," he said. "The tender
comes up to us. It'll probably be in its place by now. We aren't
ten minutes away."

The other compressed his lips and was silent.

Presently, far away to the southward beneath the soft starlit sky,
the luminous road down which they travelled seemed to expand once
more almo