"What is the lost church?" asked Mrs. Cathcart.
"No one can tell, but him who finds it, like the poet," answered the curate.
"But I suppose you at least consider it the Church of England," returned the lady with one of her sweetest attempts at a smile.
"God forbid!" exclaimed the clergyman, with a kind of sacred horror.
"Not the Church of England!" cried Mrs. Cathcart, in a tone of horror likewise, dashed with amazement.
"No, madam—the Church of God; the great cathedral-church of the universe; of which Church I trust the Church of England is a little Jesus-chapel."
"God bless you, Mr. Armstrong!" cried the schoolmaster.
The colonel likewise showed some sign of emotion. Mrs. Cathcart looked set-down and indignant. Percy stared. Adela and Harry looked at each other.
"Whoever finds God in his own heart," said the clergyman, solemnly, "has found the lost Church—the Church of God."
And he looked at Adela as he spoke. She cast down her eyes, and thanked him with her heart.