"HE'S STARVING!"
"And so it shall!" cried the editor. "You send this young man to me. What does he do in his spare time?"
"He's a sandwich-man, sir," faltered Madge; "and I think, if you don't mind," she added, "perhaps it would be better for you to write to him. He's had so many disappointments, that he'll hardly believe his luck."
"Very good," agreed the editor, "I'll write."
So Paul received his first cheque by the morning's post, "With the Editor's compliments, and thanks for the contribution entitled 'Love's Handicraft,'" and a request that he would call at the office.
V.
The sacristan was putting out the lights in St. Ethelreda's after evening service. The church was cool and still now that the people had gone. A restful gloaming fell upon the deserted aisles. One sunset shaft crept aslant the pictured walls, on the Virgin Mother and her Holy Child. Before the altars, the perpetual lamps swung solemnly. In this sanctuary of hushed repose, Madge Barberry lingered late and last of all the worshippers. She was never lonely here. The lines of statued saints looked down upon her from their niches with tender reminder that they, too, of old had fought her wars. Victorious, they were no less her fellow-soldiers. They were still one with that brave world-army of heroic men and women battling with high tides of poverty and misfortune.
She went regretfully down the shadowy nave. Paul Vespan was waiting for her in the dark porch.
"I came to meet you," he said; "Mrs. Xerxes told me you were here."