Day by day, as Colin had seen him, always alone, at the café, or lounging in the piazza, or at the bathing-place, the conviction of his calling and of his significance (whatever that should prove to be) in his own life, grew stronger. He entered into casual conversation with him, introducing himself, and saw at once there was reserve and suspicion to be overcome. But the young man gave him his name, Hugh Douglas; he was out for a holiday, he said, and expected to be here some weeks. As they idly talked, sitting at a café in the street, it so happened that a priest came by. At the sight of him Douglas rose to his feet and deliberately spat on the ground, and in his eyes was a smoking blaze of hatred. “So you are a priest,” thought Colin, “with no love for priesthood.” Then Colin asked him up to dine one evening after Violet’s departure, and set a wonderful example of frankness and unreserve. He told him about the legend, and saw his interest kindle: he felt he was somehow on the right track, though still he did not guess where it led. “But the old fellow was craven at the last,” he said, “and tried to escape from his Lord and Benefactor. He abandoned the building of the shrine he had planned, where, beyond doubt, he meant to celebrate some Satanic rite----” He paused a moment with intention. The other turned quickly to him. “That is most interesting, Lord Yardley,” he said. “You have no notion, I suppose, of what he contemplated?” Colin laughed. “Indeed I have,” he said. “In fact there has lately come into my hands a book, which beyond doubt was actually his, for it bears his coronet and arms of the correct date, and I feel sure he intended to use it in his chapel. A missal in fact, though following the English use. He refers to it in his memoirs.” Douglas’s face was alight with eagerness. “Indeed!” he said. “Have you it here? I should enormously like to see it.” Colin leaned forward to him across the table. “Yes, I have it here,” he said, “and perhaps I’ll show it you, for I feel that I’m meant to show it you. But first, doesn’t it strike you that I’m telling you a good deal, and that you’re telling me nothing?” Instantly the man shrank back into himself. “There is nothing that could interest you,” he said. “I have no profession----” Colin felt on absolutely sure ground. “Yes, you’re a priest,” he said quietly. “I am nothing of the kind,” said Douglas. “Oh, once a priest, always a priest,” said Colin. “No man nor any body of men can take from you the power that has been given you of doing the great miracle at the altar.... You were a priest, Mr. Douglas: and you know that perfectly well. I’m not the least inquisitive, and I don’t want to hear why you no longer wear priest’s dress, unless you care to tell me. You hate the priesthood now, I saw that for myself the other day, and perhaps you hate that which makes a priest a priest....” Colin summoned all that gave him his charm, and all that gave him his force.