to him, sharply, the nobility of the bishop's
own sacrifice.

"And you, sir?" he asked.

"Ah," answered the bishop, "with this I shall have had my life. I am
content. . . ."

"You will come to me again, Hodder? some other day," he said,
after an interval, "that we may talk over the new problems. They are
constructive, creative, and I am anxious to hear how you propose to meet
them. For one thing, to find a new basis for the support of such a
parish. I understand they have deprived you of your salary."

"I have enough to live on, for a year or so," replied the rector,
quickly. "Perhaps more."

"I'm afraid," said the bishop, with a smile in his old eyes, "that you
will need it, my friend. But who can say? You have strength, you have
confidence, and God is with you."

II

Life, as Hodder now grasped it, was a rapidly whirling wheel which gave
him no chance to catch up with the impressions and experiences through
which it was dragging him. Here, for instance, were two far-reaching
and momentous events, one crowding upon the other, and not an hour for
reflection, realization, or adjustment! He had, indeed, after his return
from the bishop's, snatched a few minutes to write Alison the unexpected
result of that interview. But even as he wrote and rang for a messenger
to carry the note to Park Street, he was conscious of an effort to seize
upon and hold the fact that the woman he had so intensely desired was now
his helpmate; and had, of her own freewill, united herself with him. A
strong sense of the dignity of their relationship alone prevented his
calling her on the telephone--as it doubtless had prevented her. While
she remained in her father's house, he could not. . .

In the little room next to the office several persons were waiting to see
him. But as he went downstairs he halted on the, landing, his hand going
to his forehead, a reflex movement significant of a final attempt to
achieve the hitherto unattainable feat of imagining her as his wife.
If he might only speak to her again--now, this morning! And yet he
knew that he needed no confirmation. The reality was there, in the
background; and though refusing to come forward to be touched, it had
already grafted itself as an actual and vital part of his being, never
to be eliminated.

Characteristically perfecting his own ideal, she had come to him in the
hour when his horizon had been most obscure. And he experienced now an
exultation, though solemn and