Philip glanced at his wife as people do when they suspect a third person being out of his mind, and saw that her expression was very much like his own feeling, although not exactly.  Then they both glanced around the room.

It certainly did look luxurious, even if not princely.  The parsonage was an old mansion which had once belonged to a wealthy but eccentric sea captain.  He had built to please himself, something after the colonial fashion; and large square rooms, generous fireplaces with quaint mantels, and tiling, and hardwood floors gave the house an appearance of solid comfort that approached luxury.  The church in Milton had purchased the property from the heirs, who had become involved in ruinous speculation and parted with the house for a sum little representing its real worth.  It had been changed a little, and modernized, although the old fireplaces still remained; and one spare room, an annex to the house proper, had been added recently.  There was an air of decided comfort bordering on luxury in the different pieces of furniture and the whole appearance of the room.

“You understand,” said Philip, as his glance traveled back to his visitor, “that this house is not mine.  It belongs to my church.  It is the parsonage, and I am simply living in it as the minister.”

“Yes, I understand.  You, a minister, are living in this princely house while other people have not where to lay their heads.”

Again Philip felt the same temptation to anger steal into him, and again he checked himself at the thought:  “The man is certainly insane.  The whole thing is simply absurd.  I will get rid of him.  And yet——­”

He could not shake off a strange and powerful impression which the stranger’s words had made upon him.  Crazy or not, the man had hinted at the possibility of an insincerity on his part, which made him restless.  He determined to question him and see if he really would develop a streak of insanity that would justify him in getting rid of him for the night.

“Brother Man,” he said, using the term his guest had given him, “do you think I am living to[sic] extravagantly to live as I do?”

“Yes, in these times and after such a sermon.”

“What would you have me do?” Philip asked the question half seriously, half amused at himself for asking advice from such a source.

“Do as you preach that others ought to.”

Again that silence fell over the room.  And again Philip felt the same impression of power in the strange man’s words.

The “Brother Man,” as he wished to be called, bowed his head between his hands again; and Mrs. Strong whispered to her husband:  “Now it is certainly worse than foolish to keep this up any longer.  The man is evidently insane.  We cannot keep him here all night.  He will certainly do something terrible.  Get rid of him, Philip.  This may be a trick on the part of the whiskey men.”