The parish church at Bridford was only just big enough for a highly respectable congregation, people who had ‘top hats’ and best bonnets, and who came to church regularly every Sunday because it was the right thing to do, and dissected their neighbours’ characters afterwards on their way home. Here Cyril felt the rough denizens of the slums and alleys were not wanted. There was no room for them. They would have been put to shame by the best bonnets and the sleek broadcloth. He did at first try to get them to go to church on a Sunday evening. He organized week-day evening services, and instruction classes. But even from these the factory people hung back. The old parish church, with its shining oaken pews and brass chandeliers, was too grand for them. Then Cyril took round the hat among the wealthy manufacturing families, some of whom had been roused by those stirring letters in the newspapers, and collected funds for a mission chapel. He began in a very humble way, by fitting up a large room that had once been a coffee-house, but had languished for want of appreciation, the community leaning to stronger liquor than tea or coffee. Here he had services and instruction classes four times a week, thinly attended at first; but by-and-bye the room came to be filled to overflowing, and Cyril began to think of building a chapel. He had got thus far, working night and day, shutting out of his mind as much as possible all thoughts of himself, and the hopes that he had cherished and renounced, when he received a letter from his cousin Kenrick, which gave him more pain than anything that had ever happened to him; except Christian Harefield’s death, and the train of circumstances attending upon it. ‘_Culverhouse Castle, April 30th._ DEAR CYRIL,--I should not like a stranger to tell you of the most important event in my life, before you had heard of it from me. I sail for India the day after to-morrow, but I go only for a year. One little year hence I shall sell out, and come back to England to settle down in my old home. I renounce all hope of military distinction. Whatever ambition I may have will take a new line. I am going to be married, Cyril. The woman, who is, to my mind, loveliest and most perfect among women, has promised to be my wife. A year hence, all going well, Beatrix Harefield and I are to be married, and I shall bring to the old house the fairest mistress that ever reigned over it.