"I don't anticipate a penny less than two thousand pound," said Mr. Hamlyn, triumphantly. "P'raps a good bit over. You see, we got 'er just at the last moment. It was me taking the consecrated wafer did it. She woke up as pleased as Punch, it gave her strength for the afternoon, and had the lawyer round at once. I never thought she'd go off so sudden, though." "Nor did I, Pa. Well, it's a blessing that she was able to contribute her mite towards Protestant Truth before she went." "What?" said Mr. Hamlyn sharply; "mite?--has Gussie Davies any idea of 'ow much the legacy is, then?" "I only spoke figuratively like, Father." "How you startled me, Sam!" said the secretary, his face resuming its wonted expression of impudent good humour. "How's the cash list to-day?" Sam asked. "Pretty fair," answered his father, "matter of five pound odd. It's me getting hold of that wafer, it's sent the subscriptions up wonderful. I wouldn't part----" Sam, who was sitting with his back to the door of the room, saw his father's jaw drop suddenly. His voice died away with a murmur, his face went pale, his eyes protruded. The younger man wheeled round his chair. Then he started up, with an exclamation of surprise and fear. Both the Protestant champions, indeed, behaved as if they had been discovered in some fraud by an agent of the law. Two people had come suddenly into the room, without knocking or being announced. The secretaries saw the blanched face of a clerk behind them. During its existence, the Luther League had welcomed some fairly well-known folk within its doors. This afternoon, however, a most unexpected honour had been paid to it--probably the reason of Hamlyn's extreme uneasiness. A broad, square man of considerable height, with a stern, furrowed face, wearing an apron and gaiters, stood there, with a thunder-cloud of anger on his face. It was His Grace, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Lord Huddersfield was with him. The Archbishop looked steadfastly at Hamlyn for a few seconds. His face was terrible. In the presence of the great spiritual lord who is next to the royal family in the precedence of the realm, the famous scholar, the caustic wit, the utter force and _power_ of intellect, the two champions were dumb. Hamlyn had never known anything like it before. The fellow's bounce and impudence utterly deserted him. The Archbishop spoke. His naturally rather harsh and strident voice was rendered tenfold more penetrating and terrifying by his wrath. "Sir," he said, in a torrent of menacing sound, "you have profaned the Eucharist, you have mocked the holy things of God, you have made the most sacred ordinance of our Lord a mountebank show. You boast that you have purloined the Consecrated Bread from church, you have exhibited it. Restore it to me, wretched man that you are. By the authority of God, I demand you to restore it; by my authority as head of the English Church, I order you."