"Oh, _that_," said Hamlyn. "Two hundred, what we expected. I meant something else. I've got the new scheme to wake things up! The best thing we've done yet, my boy!" Sam rubbed his hands. "What did I say this morning? I knew you'd do it, Pa. Well, let's have it." Mr. Hamlyn sat back in his chair, willing to dally a moment with his triumph and enjoy the full savour of it. "Why we never thought of it before," he said, "beats me entirely! Something suggested it to me to-night, and I've been wondering at our neglecting such a move." "What _is_ it then?" "What about one of us going to the Mass and bringing away the consecrated wafer? Then a big public meeting's called and I _show_ the people what we've got! The 'flour-and-water god' of the Romanists! Not the usual plan of producing a wafer we've bought from a shop, but the _real thing_, Sam! Then they'll all be able to see that there's no difference between before and after! It'll explode the whole thing and give the League an advertisement better than anything that's gone before!" Sam looked very grave indeed. "It's a little bit _too_ much, I'm afraid, Father," he said. "What do you mean, my son?" answered the secretary in extreme and real surprise. "Well, I don't know," Sam said doubtfully, "but I shouldn't like to meddle with it myself." Mr. Hamlyn leaned forward. "Sam," he said, "you're a fool. You're as bad as Gussie Davies! Leave the matter to me. Who's awakened Protestantism in Hengland? ME! Who knows how to work a popular cause? ME! Who's going to boom the Luther League up to the top again? ME!" "Have it your own way, Father," Sam said, "you generally do come out on top." "Ring the bell for some tea," said Mr. Hamlyn, "and let's talk out the details. We'll 'ave to get it where we aren't known by sight." CHAPTER XI THE NEWS THAT CARR BROUGHT As the days wore on, and Lucy Blantyre became accustomed to her surroundings, she found that she was in thorough tune with them. During the year she had been away from St. Elwyn's, she had spent most of the time abroad, at first with Lady Linquest, afterwards with friends. The old life of fashionable people and "smart" doings palled horribly. Travelling was a diversion from that, and, in some sense, a preparation for the more useful life that she determined to live in the future. She had quite made up her mind to that. Nothing would induce her to go back to live in Park Lane once more. Life offered far more than the West End of London could offer; so much was plain. She kept up a regular correspondence with her brother and was fully informed of all that took place in Hornham. Her thoughts turned more and more affectionately towards the dingy old house, centre of such ceaseless activities, the old house with the great church watching over it. Down there it seemed as if provision was made for all one's needs of the mind. Stress and storm beat upon it in vain, and it combined the joys of both the cloister and the hearth.