Once more again, then, this time under the shadowy high trees, as they paced in the scented dark past Fellows' gardens and placid sleeping lawns, Paul told of his conflict in the little chapel. The Bishop heard him very gravely. He asked a question or two as the story was told, but for the most part heard in silence. And when the boy finished, they walked a good hundred yards before he spoke. Then, looking straight before him, weightily, gently, he delivered his verdict. "Kestern," he said, "I will tell you what I think, and I am pretty sure of it because, though I've seen so little of you, I feel fairly sure of you. I believe you love our Lord with all your heart. I believe you wish to serve Him. And therefore I can tell you what I think of that experience in the chapel." Paul said nothing. Perhaps the other waited for him to speak, perhaps he did not. At any rate, at last he spoke again. Indirectly he passed his judgment. "'He shall give His angels charge concerning thee'," he quoted, "'to keep thee in all thy ways.'" And once more Paul could not believe his ears. In silence the two finished their walk. They stood for a few minutes outside of Selwyn Lodge, the tall big man looking into the boy's face with oddly troubled eyes. "But----" he said at last. He broke off abruptly. "I won't say it," he said. "It's not my job. You've asked me one thing, and given me one confidence; I can say no more. You must settle your own life." "That's what Father Vassall says," put in Paul. The other nodded. "He knows, of course," he said, as one professional might speak of another. "But look here: we could do with you in Mozambique if you care to come." Paul was interiorly shaken by that more than a little. It was so sudden. In a flash, he saw a path before his feet. A clergyman, a missionary; not quite as he had imagined, but suppose the Bishop, after all, were right? Catholicism without the Pope, Catholicism in a sense with a kindlier, less definite cross. Fordham suddenly menaced him. What if it meant, well, well--betrayal, a cleverly hid, intriguing, attractive scheme, but betrayal. He hesitated. "Think it over," said the Bishop. He did not, could not know, of course, but the word tipped the scale. Think! Paul had thought till he could think no more. For a while he was done with thought. Fordham meant a year's rest, a year's solace. "Thank you ever so much," he said. "I won't forget it. And thanks awfully for hearing me. But I'm booked for a year at least. Good-bye." "Good-bye," said the Bishop. "God bless you." Paul walked off to St. Mary's alone, if a man who walks with a thousand fears, doubts, desires, hopes and loves legioned in his heart, ever walks alone.