"Their fault!" cried the Archdeacon. "It's their privilege." He added less harshly, "We must all stand by the country now, Chislehurst."
"Yes, sir," said Bobby. "I shan't give the show away," and he bustled off.
Then the Colonel stalked up.
"Well, Archdeacon, what d'you make of it all?" he asked, curious as a child to gather impressions.
The Archdeacon drew himself up.
"Just retribution," he answered in voice that seemed to march. "If a nation will go a-whoring after false gods in the wilderness what can you expect? Gahd does not forget."
The Colonel listened blankly, his long neck elongated like a questing schoolboy.
"What you mean?" he asked.
"Welsh Disestablishment Bill," the other answered curtly.
Mr. Trupp now entered the station, and the Colonel, who though quiet outwardly, was in a condition of intense spiritual exaltation that made him restless as dough in which the yeast is working, joined his pal. He had cause for his emotion. The Cabinet had stood. The country had closed its ranks in a way that was little short of a miracle. All men of all parties had rallied to the flag. In Dublin the Irish mob which had provoked the King's Own Scottish Borderers to bloody retaliation, had turned out and cheered the battalion as it marched down to the transports for embarkation.