"I'll run round to the bank," said Sam, "and pay this morning's little lot into the general fund, and post the statement to the treasurer."
"Right, my son. What was it?"
"Seventeen pounds odd, Pa."
"Protestants are waking up," said Mr. Hamlyn, "our work for the Cause has a blessing upon it."
CHAPTER VIII
A PRIVATE CONFERENCE AT MIDNIGHT A YEAR LATER
It was late at night in Father Blantyre's study at Hornham. King and Stephens had gone to bed, but the vicar sat with Dr. Hibbert, his churchwarden.
Both men were smoking. By the side of the doctor stood a modest peg of whiskey; the priest contented himself with a glass of soda-water. The candles by which the room was lighted showed that Mr. Blantyre's face was very worn and weary. He seemed a man who was passing through a time of stress and storm. The bronzed countenance of the doctor wore its usual aspect of serenity and strength. Both men had been talking together earnestly for a great part of the night. A true and intimate friendship obtained between them, and it was a plan that fortnightly they should meet thus and make confidences to each other about that which they held so dear.
"It is just a year," Blantyre said, "since Hamlyn committed his first sacrilege in our own church."