“I shall have to call upon you for your assistance.”

“Mine?”

“Yes; I couldn’t drink all this myself.  I’m not accustomed to taking wine.  As much as this would—­I am afraid—­go to my head.”  His face was now twitching convulsively.  “Especially on a—­a somewhat—­empty stomach.”

“But it’s no good asking me,” said Mr. Windle.

“Why not?  You have just been a communicant?  Under extraordinary circumstances like this, I am expected to call upon some one who has communicated, reverently, to assist me.”

“Ah, yes; that is all very well—­so long as you do not enforce any one whom you may choose to break their own most rigid principles.  I’m a total abstainer, you see.  Even—­er—­at the altar—­I—­I—­only permit the wine to touch my tongue, as I hold every communicant should do.  But you want me actually to drink this.  As much liquid as, I assure you, I should take with a meal.  Again, I have taken the pledge—­”

“But, my dear Mr. Windle, in such an exceptional circumstance as this—­”

“I have openly taken the pledge,” Mr. Windle repeated conclusively—­“I’m very sorry.  I’m afraid, too, that the sacristan has gone.  But I think the organ blower was there when I came in; I fancy I heard him.”

“Ah, yes; but he was not at Communion.”

“Of course not—­then I’m sorry.  I shall be sure to see some one who was, and I’ll send them along.  We shall see you up at the house soon.  Don’t be long—­you’ll forgive my going on ahead, but I’m afraid his lordship may have arrived already.  I’ll send you any one if I see them.  And I’m bound to meet somebody.  They haven’t been gone very long.”

He had gone.  The Rev. Samuel was left alone with the half-filled goblet of noxious wine in his hand.  For some moments he continued to stand in the same position, looking down into the crimson depth of liquid that lay, scintillating lazily, in the silver bowl.

At last he raised it to his lips and sipped it—­once, twice, three times.  Then he waited.  “Wine to make glad the heart of man.”  The words came to his mind.  Wine was a terrible power, a fascinating evil.  He thanked God that he had never fallen a prey to its fascinations.  This wine was very sweet.  He liked sweet things.  Once he had tasted champagne when dining at the house of Lady Bray.  He had thought that disagreeable, though at the moment he had murmured that it was excellent wine; but he had been unable to understand how any man could take of that more than was good for him.  This wine, of course, that they used in the church was infinitely more palatable.  But how could he possibly drink all this?  It was out of the question.  He prayed devoutly that Mr. Windle would soon find him relief and send some one.

He took another sip and waited, noticing that already there were slight signs of diminution in the contents of the chalice.  Then he thought of the bishop.  It was possible that his lordship might notice the scent of it in his breath if he took it all.  They would be sure to be talking together about his little alterations; and if the bishop were to notice it, it would be disastrous.  He looked at his watch.  It was already almost the time that they were supposed to sit down to dinner.  Oh! why did not Mr. Windle find some one and bring him release from this torture of mind?