And all the while, in the background, Hodder had been aware of a familiar face—­Horace Bentley’s.  Beside him, when at length he drew near, was his friend Asa Waring—­a strangely contrasted type.  The uncompromising eyes of a born leader of men flashed from beneath the heavy white eyebrows, the button of the Legion of Honour gleaming in his well-kept coat seemed emblematic of the fire which in his youth had driven him forth to fight for the honour of his country—­a fire still undimmed.  It was he who spoke first.

“This is a day I never expected to see, Mr. Hodder,” he said, “for it has brought back to this church the man to whom it owes its existence.  Mr. Bentley did more, by his labour and generosity, his true Christianity, his charity and his wisdom, for St. John’s than any other individual.  It is you who have brought him back, and I wish personally to express my gratitude.”

Mr. Bentley, in mild reproof, laid his hand upon the t, shoulder of his old friend.

“Ah, Asa,” he protested, “you shouldn’t say such things.”

“Had it not been for Mr. Bentley,” Hodder explained, “I should not be here to-day.”

Asa Waring pierced the rector with his eye, appreciating the genuine feeling with which these words were spoken.  And yet his look contained a question.

“Mr. Bentley,” Hodder added, “has been my teacher this summer.”

The old gentleman’s hand trembled a little on the goldheaded stick.

“It is a matter of more pride to me than I can express, sir, that you are the rector of this church with which my most cherished memories are associated,” he said.  “But I cannot take any part of the credit you give me for the splendid vision which you have raised up before us to-day, for your inspired interpretation of history, of the meaning of our own times.  You have moved me, you have given me more hope and courage than I have had for many a long year—­and I thank you, Mr. Hodder.  I am sure that God will prosper and guide you in what you have so nobly undertaken.”

Mr. Bentley turned away, walking towards the end of the room . . . .  Asa Waring broke the silence.

“I didn’t know that you knew him, that you had seen what he is doing —­what he has done in this city.  I cannot trust myself, Mr. Hodder, to speak of Horace Bentley’s life. . .  I feel too strongly on the subject.  I have watched, year by year, this detestable spirit of greed, this lust for money and power creeping over our country, corrupting our people and institutions, and finally tainting the Church itself.  You have raised your voice against it, and I respect and honour and thank you for it, the more because you have done it without resorting to sensation, and apparently with no thought of yourself.  And, incidentally, you have explained the Christian religion to me as I have never had it explained in my life.