The truth went home to each man present--even to that unknown one beneath the gallery who, when the men had risen to cheer, shrank farther into his dark corner and drew short sharp breaths. The Past would not down at his bidding; he was beginning to feel his weakness when he had most need of strength. He did not hear Father Honore's parting words:--"Here you find the third crystal--strength, solidity, the bedrock of endeavor. Take these three home with you:--the pure crystal of human love and trust, the heart believing in its Maker, the strength of good character. There you have the three that make for equality in this world--and nothing else does. Good night, my friends." VI Father Honore got home from the lecture a little before nine. He renewed the fire, drew up a chair to the hearth, took his violin from its case and, seating himself before the springing blaze, made ready to play for a while in the firelight. This was always his refreshment after a successful evening with the men. He drew his thumb along the bow-- There was a knock at the door. He rose and flung it wide with a human enough gesture of impatience; his well-earned rest was disturbed too soon. He failed to recognize the man who was standing bareheaded on the step. "Father Honore, I've come home--don't you know me, Champney?" There was no word in response, but his hands were grasped hard--he was drawn into the room--the door was shut on the chill wind of that March night. Then the two men stood silent, gazing into each other's eyes, while the firelight leaped and showed to each the other's face--the priest's working with a powerful emotion he was struggling to control; Champney Googe's apparently calm, but in reality tense with anxiety. He spoke first: "I want to know about my mother--is she well?" Father Honore found his voice, an uncertain one but emphatic; it left no room for further anxiety in the questioner's mind. "Yes, well, thank God, and looking forward to this--but it's so soon! I don't understand--when did you come?" He kept one hand on Champney's as if fearing to lose him, with the other he pulled forward a chair from the wall and placed it near his own; he sat down and drew Champney into the other beside him. "I came up on the afternoon train; I got out yesterday." "It's so unexpected. The chaplain wrote me last month that there was a prospect of this within the next six months, but I had no idea it would be so soon--neither, I am sure, had he." "Nor I--I don't know that I feel sure of it yet. Has my mother any idea of this?" "I wasn't at liberty to tell her--the communication was confidential. Still she knows that it is customary to shorten the--" he caught up his words. "--Term for exemplary conduct?" Champney finished for him. "Yes. I can't realize this, Champney; it's six years and four months--"