Yes; what was wanted was a new Order in the Church; the old ones were rule-bound through no fault of their own.  An Order was wanted without habit or tonsure, without traditions or customs, an Order with nothing but entire and whole-hearted devotion, without pride even in their most sacred privileges, without a past history in which they might take complacent refuge.  They must be franc-tireurs of Christ’s Army; like the Jesuits, but without their fatal reputation, which, again, was no fault of their own. ...  But there must be a Founder—­Who, in God’s Name? —­a Founder nudus sequens Christum nudum....  Yes—­Franc-tireurs —­priests, bishops, laymen and women—­with the three vows of course, and a special clause forbidding utterly and for ever their ownership of corporate wealth.—­Every gift received must be handed to the bishop of the diocese in which it was given, who must provide them himself with necessaries of life and travel.  Oh!—­what could they not do?...  He was off in a rhapsody.

Presently he recovered, and called himself a fool.  Was not that scheme as old as the eternal hills, and as useless for practical purposes?  Why, it had been the dream of every zealous man since the First Year of Salvation that such an Order should be founded!...  He was a fool....

Then once more he began to think of it all over again.

Surely it was this which was wanted against the Masons; and women, too.—­Had not scheme after scheme broken down because men had forgotten the power of women?  It was that lack that had ruined Napoleon:  he had trusted Josephine, and she had failed him; so he had trusted no other woman.  In the Catholic Church, too, woman had been given no active work but either menial or connected with education:  and was there not room for other activities than those?  Well, it was useless to think of it.  It was not his affair.  If Papa Angelicus who now reigned in Rome had not thought of it, why should a foolish, conceited priest in Westminster set himself up to do so?

So he beat himself on the breast once more, and took up his office-book.

He finished in half an hour, and again sat thinking; but this time it was of poor Father Francis.  He wondered what he was doing now; whether he had taken off the Roman collar of Christ’s familiar slaves?  The poor devil!  And how far was he, Percy Franklin, responsible?

When a tap came at his door presently, and Father Blackmore looked in for a talk before going to bed, Percy told him what had happened.

Father Blackmore removed his pipe and sighed deliberately.

“I knew it was coming,” he said.  “Well, well.”

“He has been honest enough,” explained Percy.  “He told me eight months ago he was in trouble.”

Father Blackmore drew upon his pipe thoughtfully.

“Father Franklin,” he said, “things are really very serious.  There is the same story everywhere.  What in the world is happening?”