"My dear sir," he cried, "can you imagine even the British Navy standing between a Scotch congregation and its sermon! You are the one kind of stranger who will be admitted. All you have to do is to get a passport—and there you are!"
"Are they difficult to get?"
The stranger laughed again.
"I know nothing about that kind of thing," said he. "I'm a Lancashire lad, and the buzz of machinery is my game; but I can safely say this: that you will have no difficulty in getting a passport."
Mr Burnett again gazed at the water in silence.
Then he looked up and said with a serious face—
"I must really tell you, sir, of a very remarkable coincidence. Only a few days ago some unknown friend sent me a copy of a newspaper with a notice of this very vacancy marked in it!"
The Lancashire lad looked almost thunder-struck by this extraordinary disclosure.
"Well, I'm hanged!" he cried—adding hurriedly, "if you'll forgive my strong language, sir."
"It seems to me to be providential," said Mr Burnett in a low and very serious voice.