“Oh! surely you have not been abroad to learn Socialism. We English people are afraid of that,” said Miss Wentworth. “And yet many are dissatisfied with things as they are.” “Certainly, and they have need to be. Side by side with all the good there are evils of which every decent person is utterly ashamed.” “Then why do the decent people allow them to exist?” “I suppose they cannot help it.” “But they could if they would. They have the power and the influence, if they only had the will. Very much of the wealth, too, is in the hands of religious people, and if only they cared, as I think they ought, the great evils which are a disgrace to England might be stamped out in a year.” “Do you really think so?” “I feel sure of it. Englishmen do but need to know God’s greatness and their own, and then they could lift our country up to its name as a Christian land.” Miss Wentworth laughed a little. “That would bring the Millennium much sooner than it is expected,” she said. “Another Wesley is wanted, or even a non-political Gladstone, that is all. The people are ready for the man who has an understanding of the times.” It was early in the morning, just after daybreak, that the long-looked-for homeland appeared in sight. Nobody had slept much that night, for the thoughts of the passengers had gone on before their eyes to the green heights of Plymouth Hoe. Yet it was not so much because of its historical associations that it so haunted them, but because it would give them the first glimpse of the old country. A cheer arose from the throats of the watchers as soon as it first came in sight, and preparations for disembarking were so rapidly completed that every one was ready long before the land was reached. Arthur Knight stood with folded arms and glowing eyes looking at the land. How he had dreamed of that moment, and prayed, “Here am I, send me.” It was strange for a modern young man to be thinking of St. Paul and of Peter the Hermit, but he was. He believed, as they did, that he had received a God-inspired impulse, and that he had a message to deliver for which there were hundreds of thousands of people waiting in this dear native land of his. He was in a state of exaltation, tempered, however, with deep humility. “I am not worthy, yet send me,” he said. “Let me go to the crowded towns and the lonely villages, and tell the people what Thou hast told me.” He uttered the words aloud, for no one was quite close, and the next moment he stepped ashore, and a man came forward to greet him. “Welcome home, Mr. Arthur. I am very glad to see you.” “How do you do, Hancourt? How is my father?” “Mr. Knight is well, sir; so am I, only I am much worried. As you said you wished to talk to me I have taken the liberty to engage a private compartment for the journey to London,” said the man. “Very good. When does the train start?” “Almost immediately. Can I look after your luggage?”