He stood at last in the ample vestibule of his house, singling out his latch-key, when suddenly the door opened, and his daughter Helen appeared.
“Oh, dad,” she cried, “why are you so-late? I've been watching for you. I know you've let Mr. Hodder stay.”
She gazed at him with widened eyes.
“Don't tell me that you've made him resign. I can't—I won't believe it.”
“He isn't going to resign, Helen,” Langmaid replied, in an odd voice.
“He—he refused to.”
CHAPTER XXV. “RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT!”
I
The Church of St. John's, after a peaceful existence of so many years, had suddenly become the stage on which rapid and bewildering dramas were played: the storm-centre of chaotic forces, hitherto unperceived, drawn from the atmosphere around her. For there had been more publicity, more advertising. “The Rector of St. John's will not talk”—such had been one headline: neither would the vestry talk. And yet, despite all this secrecy, the whole story of the suspension of Hodder's salary was in print, and an editorial (which was sent to him) from a popular and sensational journal, on “tainted money,” in which Hodder was held up to the public as a martyr because he refused any longer to accept for the Church ill-gotten gains from Consolidated Tractions and the like.