"And the church! They must have their church back again. Who is going to rebuild it for them?"
Carlton was on his feet in the last excitement. The bishop regarded him with puzzled eyebrows.
"I have heard nothing on that subject as yet; it is a little early, is it not? But I have no doubt that it will be a matter for subscription among themselves."
"Among my poor people?"
"With substantial aid, I should hope, from men of substance in the neighbourhood."
"But why should they pay?" cried Carlton, impetuously. "The church was not burnt down for my neighbours' sins, nor for the sins of the parish, but for mine alone . . . Oh, my lord, if I could but go back among my people, and be their servant, I who was too much their master before! I was not quite dependent—thank God, I had a little of my own—but every penny should be theirs!"
And the profligate priest stood upright before his bishop—his white hands clasped, his white face shining, his burning eyes moist—zealot and suppliant in one.
"You desire to spend your income——"
"No, no, my capital!"
"On the poor of your parish? I—I fail to understand."