must throw over the old drudgery at Rotherhithe, but this resolve which astonishes you had not yet ripened—­I saw it only as one of the possibilities of my life.  Well, now, it’s only too true that there’s something of speculation in my purpose; I look to the Church, not only as a congenial sphere of activity, but as a means of subsistence.  In a man of no fortune this is inevitable; I hope there is nothing to be ashamed of.  Even if the conditions of the case allowed it, I shouldn’t present myself for ordination forthwith; I must study and prepare myself in quietness.  How the practical details will be arranged, I can’t say; I have no family influence, and I must hope to make friends who will open a way for me.  I have always lived apart from society; but that isn’t natural to me, and it becomes more distasteful the older I grow.  The probability is that I shall settle somewhere in the country, where I can live decently on a small income.  After all, it’s better I should have let you know this at once.  I only realised a few minutes ago that to be silent about my projects was in a way to be guilty of false pretences.’

The adroitness of this last remark, which directed itself, with such show of candour, against a suspicion precisely the opposite of that likely to be entertained by the listener, succeeded in disarming Warricombe; he looked up with a smile of reassurance, and spoke encouragingly.

’About the practical details I don’t think you need have any anxiety.  It isn’t every day that the Church of England gets such a recruit.  Let me suggest that you have a talk with my father.’

Peak reflected on the proposal, and replied to it with grave thoughtfulness: 

’That’s very kind of you, but I should have a difficulty in asking Mr. Warricombe’s advice.  I’m afraid I must go on in my own way for a time.  It will be a few months, I daresay, before I can release myself from my engagements in London.’

‘But I am to understand that your mind is really made up?’

‘Oh, quite!’

’Well, no doubt we shall have opportunities of talking.  We must meet in town, if possible.  You have excited my curiosity, and I can’t help hoping you’ll let me see a little further into your mind some day.  When I first got hold of Newman’s Apologia, I began to read it with the utmost eagerness, flattering myself that now at length I should understand how a man of brains could travel such a road.  I was horribly disappointed, and not a little enraged, when I found that he began by assuming the very beliefs I thought he was going to justify.  In you I shall hope for more logic.’

‘Newman is incapable of understanding such an objection,’ said Peak, with a look of amusement.

‘But you are not.’

The dialogue grew chatty.  When they exchanged good-night, Peak fancied that the pressure of Buckland’s hand was less fervent than at their meeting, but his manner no longer seemed to indicate distrust.  Probably the agnostic’s mood was one of half-tolerant disdain.