Mr. Perry-Hennington was the chosen vehicle. Between the two men there had been a reconciliation. The return of health had enabled Brandon to shed much of his animosity; besides, he saw that if John Smith’s view of his mission was the true one, such a man as the vicar of Penfold could hardly be more than a humble catspaw of destiny. That good, but narrow and obtuse man, was perhaps only the unconscious means by which a second world-drama was to unfold itself. In the autumn Brandon was granted a few days’ leave. After weary months of servitude in the arid north, a week at Hart’s Ghyll, among his own people, was like a breath of heaven. And it synchronized with a tide of greater events. These began with a morning call from the vicar. A very different Gervase Brandon received him now in that glorious room, which, however, for them both, must always hold memories of anxious and embittered conflict. The squire of Hart’s Ghyll had emerged from the long night of the soul, and even to this closed mind he was far more than the Gervase Brandon of old. In returning to that physical world which he loved so well, he had gained enlargement. Something had been added to a noble liberality; a softness, an immanence of the spirit, which Mr. Perry-Hennington was quick to ascribe to his favorite process of purification by suffering. The vicar was pleased by the warmth of his reception; and he had already had a sign of Brandon’s change of attitude. The previous day, at Brandon’s request, he had paid a visit to Wellwood. And in that request, Mr. Perry-Hennington saw a tacit admission of the justice of his actions; he also saw that Brandon, now clothed in his right mind, was fully alive to his own errors in the past. “Well, my dear Gervase,” he said with full-toned heartiness, the underside of which was magnanimity, “yesterday, as you suggested, I went to Wellwood to see our friend.” “More than good of you,” said Brandon, his eyes lighted by gratitude and eagerness. “An act of real charity. I could have gone myself, of course, but I don’t quite trust myself in the matter--that is to say--” “Quite so--I understand and appreciate that. And I am particularly glad you left it to me to form my own impressions.” “Well?” “In the first place, I had a long talk with Dr. Thorp, who by the way is a singularly experienced and broad-minded man.” “I fully agree.” “Well, I’m bound to say that he grew quite enthusiastic over the poor dear fellow. In every way he is a most exemplary patient; indeed, I was told that he wields a truly remarkable moral influence over the whole establishment, inmates and nursing staff alike.” “I learned that many months ago.” “It is very surprising that it should be so.” The vicar’s air was one of perplexity. “But Dr. Thorp considers John Smith an extraordinary case.” “So I have gathered.”