ia, it might be nervous dyspepsia, it might be
overwork, it might be a dozen things."

"Just what I say," exclaimed Chichester. "Men of science delight in
nothing so much as in finding excuses for rejecting the greatest truths."

"Do you mean the greatest truths in the possession of Anglican
clergymen?"

"I dare say you think it impossible that a clergyman should know more
than a scientific man?"

"Oh, no. But he's out for faith, and I happen to be out for facts. I like
hard facts that can be set down with a fountain-pen in my note-book, and
that, taken together, are convincing to all men of reasonable intellect.
Very dull, no doubt; but there you have it. Clergymen, as a rule, move in
what are called lofty regions--the realms of heart, conscience, and what
not. Now, I'm very fond of the region of gray matter--gray matter."

"And yet you are one of the chief of the investigators in the field of
psychical research."

"Do you think there's no room for pencil and note-book there? What about
Podmore,--there's a loss!--and a dozen others? Psychic matters have got
to be lifted out of the hands of credulous fetish-worshiping fools, and
the sooner the better."

"It's easy to call people credulous," said Chichester, with decided heat.
"By being so readily contemptuous, Professor Stepton, you may often keep
back evidence that might be of inestimable value to your cause. A man in
possession of a great truth may keep it to himself for fear of being
laughed at or called a liar."

"Then all I can say is that he's a coward--an arrant abject coward."

Chichester sat in silence. Again he was looking down. Now that his eyes
were hidden by their drooping lids, and that he was no longer speaking,
the sadness of his aspect seemed more profound. It dignified his rather
insignificant features. It even seemed, in some mysterious way, to infuse
power into his slight and unimportant figure. After sitting thus for
perhaps three minutes he raised his head and got up from his chair.

"I must not take up your time any longer," he said. "It was very good of
you to see me at all." He held out his hand, which Stepton took, and
added, "I'll just say one thing."

"Do!"

"It isn't always cowardice which causes a man to keep a secret--a secret
which might be of value to the world."

"I never said it was."

"No; but still--you spoke just now of my sermons. I preached one not very
long ago which I have typed myself. If I send it to you do yo