“I have enough to live on, for a year or so,” replied the rector, quickly.  “Perhaps more.”

“I’m afraid,” said the bishop, with a smile in his old eyes, “that you will need it, my friend.  But who can say?  You have strength, you have confidence, and God is with you.”

II

Life, as Hodder now grasped it, was a rapidly whirling wheel which gave him no chance to catch up with the impressions and experiences through which it was dragging him.  Here, for instance, were two far-reaching and momentous events, one crowding upon the other, and not an hour for reflection, realization, or adjustment!  He had, indeed, after his return from the bishop’s, snatched a few minutes to write Alison the unexpected result of that interview.  But even as he wrote and rang for a messenger to carry the note to Park Street, he was conscious of an effort to seize upon and hold the fact that the woman he had so intensely desired was now his helpmate; and had, of her own freewill, united herself with him.  A strong sense of the dignity of their relationship alone prevented his calling her on the telephone—­as it doubtless had prevented her.  While she remained in her father’s house, he could not. . .

In the little room next to the office several persons were waiting to see him.  But as he went downstairs he halted on the, landing, his hand going to his forehead, a reflex movement significant of a final attempt to achieve the hitherto unattainable feat of imagining her as his wife.  If he might only speak to her again—­now, this morning!  And yet he knew that he needed no confirmation.  The reality was there, in the background; and though refusing to come forward to be touched, it had already grafted itself as an actual and vital part of his being, never to be eliminated.

Characteristically perfecting his own ideal, she had come to him in the hour when his horizon had been most obscure.  And he experienced now an exultation, though solemn and sacred, that her faith had so far been rewarded in the tidings he now confided to the messenger.  He was not, as yet, to be driven out from the task, to be deprived of the talent, the opportunity intrusted to him by Lord—­the emancipation of the parish of St. John’s.

The first to greet him, when he entered his office, was one who, unknown to himself, had been fighting the battle of the God in Christ, and who now, thanks to John Hodder, had identified the Spirit as the transforming force.  Bedloe Hubbell had come to offer his services to the Church.  The tender was unqualified.

“I should even be willing, Mr. Hodder,” he said with a smile, “to venture occasionally into a pulpit.  You have not only changed my conception of religion, but you have made it for me something which I can now speak about naturally.”

Hodder was struck by the suggestion.

“Ah, we shall need the laymen in the pulpits, Mr. Hubbell,” he said quickly.  “A great spiritual movement must be primarily a lay movement.  And I promise you you shall not lack for opportunity.”