te spoke nervously, and seemed to Malling to be regarding him
with furtive anxiety.

"It was obvious that Mr. Harding wasn't in good form this morning,"
Malling said. "He explained the matter after lunch."

"He _explained_ the matter!" said Chichester, with a rising voice, in
which there was an almost shrill note of suspicion.

"Yes. He told me he was often the victim of nervous dyspepsia, and that
he had an attack of it while in the pulpit this morning."

"He told you it was nervous dyspepsia!"

"I have just said so."

The curate looked down.

"I advised him not to walk all the way home yesterday," he said gloomily.
"You heard me."

"You think it was that?"

"He never will take advice from any one. That's his--one of his great
faults. Whatever he thinks, whatever he says, must be right. You, as a
layman, probably have no idea how a certain type of clergyman loves
authority."

This remark struck Malling as in such singularly bad taste--considering
where they were, and that one of them was Mr. Harding's guest, the other
his curate--that only his secret desire to make obscure things clear
prevented him from resenting it.

"It is one of the curses of the Church," continued Chichester, "this
passion for authority, for ruling, for having all men under one's feet as
it were. If men would only listen, take advice, see themselves as they
really are, how much finer, how much greater, they might become!"

"See themselves as others see them! Eh?" said Malling. "But do you mean
that a rector should depend on his curate's advice rather than on his own
judgment?"

"And why not?" said Chichester. "Rector--curate--archbishop--what does it
matter? The point is not what rank in the hierarchy a man has, but what,
and how, does he see? A street boy may perceive a truth that a king is
blind to. At that moment the street boy is greater than the king. Do you
deny it?"

"No," said Malling, amazed at the curate's excitement, but showing no
astonishment.

"But it's a terrible thing to see too clearly!" continued Chichester,
almost as if talking to himself, absorbed. "A terrible thing!"

He looked up at Malling, and almost solemnly he said:

"Are you still going on with all those investigations?"

"When I have any spare time, I often spend some of it in that sort of
work," answered Malling, lightly.

It was his way to make light of his research work, and indeed he seldom
mentioned it unless he was forced to do so.

"Do