Old ties of friendship already mentioned made the Bishop and Mrs. Selwyn promise to spend a few days at Feniton; and on the 19th of August the New Zealand guests arrived at Feniton.  After joining in the family welcome, Coley went apart, and gave way to a great burst of tears, due, perhaps, not so mueh to disappointed ardour, as to the fervent emotion excited by the actual presence of a hero of the Church Militant, who had so long been the object of deep silent enthusiasm.  The next morning, Coley walked from Alfington to breakfast at home, and afterwards went into the garden with the Bishop, who led him to talk freely of his present work in all its details.  By-and-by the question arose, Did it satisfy him?

Yes, the being near his father satisfied him that it was right for the present, but at some future time, he hoped to do more, go perhaps to some great manufacturing town, or, as he could not help going on to say, what he should like would be to go out as a missionary, only the thought of his father withheld him.

‘But,’ replied the Bishop, ’if you think about doing a thing of that sort, it should not be put off till you are getting on in life.  It should be done with your full strength and vigour.’

Then followed an endeavour on both sides to ascertain whether the inclination was a real earnest desire, or only fancy for the romance of mission work.  The test might be whether he were willing to go wherever he might be sent, or only where he was most interested.  Coley replied, that he was willing to work anywhere, adding that his sister Fanny could testify whether his desire were a real one of long standing or the mere outcome of a fit of enthusiasm.

Therewith they separated, and Coley, going straight to Fanny, told her what had passed:  ‘I could not help it,’ he said:—­’I told the Bishop of my wish.’

‘You ought to put it to my father, that he may decide it,’ she answered; ’he is so great a man that he ought not to be deprived of the crown of the sacrifice if he be willing to make it.’

So Coley repaired to his father, and confessed his long cherished wish, and how it had come forth to the Bishop.  Sir John was manifestly startled; but at once said:  ’You have done quite right to speak to me, and not to wait.  It is my first impulse to say No, but that would be very selfish.’

Coley explained that he was ‘driven to speak;’ he declared himself not dissatisfied with his present position, nor he hoped, impatient.  If his staying at home were decided upon, he would cheerfully work on there without disappointment or imagining his wishes thwarted.  He would leave the decision entirely in the hands of his father and the Bishop.

Luncheon brought the whole family together; and Sir John, making room for his younger daughter beside him, said, ’Fan, did you know this about Coley?’

She answered that she had some idea, but no more could pass till the meal was ended; when her father went into another room, and she followed him.  The great grief broke out in the exclamation:  ’I can’t let him go;’ but even as the words were uttered, they were caught back, as it were, with—­’God forbid I should stop him.’