"I begin to get a glimmering of what you mean," said East.
"I say, now," said Tom, eagerly, "do you remember how we both hated Flashman?"
"Of course I do," said East; "I hate him still. What then?"
"Well, when I came to take the Sacrament, I had a great struggle about that. I tried to put him out of my head; and when I couldn't do that, I tried to think of him as evil, as something that the Lord who was loving me hated, and which I might hate too. But it wouldn't do. I broke down; I believe Christ himself broke me down; and when the Doctor gave me the bread and wine, and leaned over me praying, I prayed for poor Flashman, as if it had been you or Arthur."
East buried his face in his hands on the table. Tom could feel the table tremble. At last he looked up. "Thank you again, Tom," said he; "you don't know what you may have done for me to-night. I think I see now how the right sort of sympathy with poor wretches is got at."
"And you'll stop for the Sacrament next time, won't you?" said Tom.
"Can I, before I'm confirmed?"
"Go and ask the Doctor."
"I will."
That very night, after prayers, East followed the Doctor and the old verger bearing the candle, up stairs. Tom watched and saw the Doctor turn round when he heard foot-steps following him closer than usual, and say "Hah, East! Do you want to speak to me, my man?"