“’In the afternoon I went round the lines again.  Hilda, I wish I could tell you what I felt.  Everyone was decent enough, but the men would get up and salute as I came up, and by the very sound of their voices you could tell how their talk changed as soon as they saw me.  Mind you, they were much more friendly than men at home, but I felt all the time out of touch.  They didn’t want me, and somehow Christ and the Gospel seemed a long way off.  However, we had the evening service.  The hut was fairly full, which pleased me, and I preached a much more “Gospel” address than in the morning.  Some officers came, and then afterwards two or three of us went out for a stroll and a talk.

“’Among these officers was a tall chap I had met at the club, named Langton.  He had come down to see somebody in our mess, and had come on to service.  He is an extraordinarily nice person, different from most, a man who thinks a lot and controls himself.  He did most of the talking, and began as we strolled up the hill.

“’"Padre,” he said, “how does Christ save us?”

“’I said He had died to obtain our forgiveness from God, and that, if we trusted in Him, He would forgive and help us to live nobler and manlier lives. (Of course, I said much more, but I see plainly that that is what it all comes to.)

“’When I had done, he walked on for a bit in silence, and then he said, “Do you think the men understand that?”

“’I said I thought and hoped they might.  It was simple enough.

“’"Well,” he said, “it’s hopeless jargon to me.  If I try to analyse it, I am knocked out right and left by countless questions; but leave that.  It is when I try to take you practically at your word that I find you are mumbling a fetish.  Forgive me, but it is so.”

“’I was a little annoyed and very troubled.  “Do explain,” I said.

“’"All right, only you mustn’t mind if I hurt you,” he said.  “Take Trust in Christ—­well, that either means that a man gets intoxicated by an idea which does control his life, just as it would if he were intoxicated by the idea Trust in Buddha, or else it comes to nothing.  I can’t really trust in a dead man, or a man on the right hand of the throne of God.  What Tommy wants is a pal to lean on in the canteen and the street.  He wants somebody more real and more lovable and more desirable than the girl who tempts him into sin.  And he can’t be found.  Was he in your service to-night?  Can he be emotionally conjured up by ’Yield not to temptation’ or ‘Dare to be a Daniel’?  Be honest, padre—­the thing is a spectre of the imagination.”

“’I was absolutely silent.  He went on: