“I will take refuge in the Church,” he thought. In prayer and penance and fasting he would find help and consolation. The Church was peace--peace from the noise of life, and strength to fight and to vanquish. But the Church must be the Church of God--not of the world, the flesh, and the devil. “Ask the canon if he can see me immediately,” said John Storm to the footman, and he stood in the hall for the answer. The canon had taken tea that day in the study with his daughter Felicity. He was reclining on the sofa, propped up with velvet cushions, and holding the teacup and saucer like the wings of a butterfly in both hands. “We have been deceived, my dear” (sip, sip), “and we must pay the penalty of the deception. Yet we have nothing to blame ourselves for--nothing whatever. Here was a young man, from Heaven knows where, bent on entering the diocese. True, he was merely the son of a poor lord who had lived the life of a hermit, but he was also the nephew, and presumably the heir, of the Prime Minister of England” (sip, sip, sip). “Well, I gave him his title. I received him into my house. I made him free of my family--and what is the result? He has disregarded my instructions, antagonized my supporters, and borne himself toward me with an attitude of defiance, if not disdain.” Felicity poured out a second cup of tea for her father, sympathized with him, and set forth her own grievances. The young man had no conversation, and his reticence was quite embarrassing. Sometimes when she had friends, and asked him to come down, his silence--well, really---- “We might have borne with these little deficiencies, my dear, if the Prime Minister had been deeply interested. But he is not. I doubt if he has ever seen his nephew since that first occasion. And when I called at Downing Street, about the time of the sermon, he seemed entirely undisturbed. 'The young man is in the wrong place, my dear canon; send him back to me.' That was all.” “Then why don't you do it?” said Felicity. “It is coming to that, my child; but blood is thicker than water, you know, and after all----” It was at this moment the footman entered the room to ask if the canon could see Mr. Storm. “Ah, the man himself!” said the canon, rising. “Jenkyns, remove the tray.” Dropping his voice: “Felicity, I will ask you to leave us together. After what occurred this morning at the hospital anything like a scene----” Then aloud: “Bring him in, Jenkyns.--Say something, my dear. Why don't you speak?--Come in, my dear Storm.--You'll see to that matter for me, Felicity. Thanks, thanks! Sorry to send you off, but I'm sure Mr. Storm will excuse you. Good-bye for the present.” Felicity went out as John Storm came in. He looked excited, and there was an expression of pain in his face. “I am sorry to disturb you, but I need not detain you long,” he said. “Sit down, Mr. Storm, sit down,” said the canon, returning to the sofa.