When the news from Basil came, the vicar was sitting before the fire in his lighted study. He had been expecting the telegram all day.
His brain had been haunted by the picture of that distinguished figure with the dark red hair he had so often met.
Again he saw the millionaire standing in his drawing-room proffering money for scholarships. And in Dieppe also!
How well and clearly he saw the huge figure of the savant in his coat of astrachan, with his babble of soups and entrée!
Try as he would, the vicar could not hate these two men. The sin, the awful sin, yes, a thousand times. Horror could not be stretched far enough, no hatred could be too great for such immensity of crime.
But in his great heart, in his large, human nature there was a Divine pity for this wretched pair. He could not help it. It was part of him. He wondered if he were not erring in feeling pity. Was not this, indeed, that mysterious sin against the Holy Ghost for which there was no forgiveness? Was it not said of Judas that for his deed he should lie for ever in hell?
The telegram was brought in by a neat, unconcerned housemaid.
Then the vicar got up and locked the inner door of his study. He knelt in prayer and thanksgiving.
It was a moment of intense spiritual communion with the Unseen.
This good man, who had given his vigorous life and active intellect to God, knelt humbly at his study table while a joy and happiness not of this earth filled all his soul.