It had not occurred to Gard, but evidently he must tell the Superior; and how could the Superior be made to understand about the high fluting, and that it said "Follow, follow," so that one needs must go; and all about the sugar-plums and the girl in the brake, and the banner and sword and shield? And, if not, what was there to tell the Superior, more than to make a bare statement of his rooted ingratitude, his incorrigibly evil nature, and his resolve to go? Probably there was not another such case in the history of orders, and he would be excommunicated. He knew the Superior had meant him to be peculiarly consecrated, and, because he had no origin back of the Foundlings' Hospital, had thought him a soul only the better fitted to be seized and sent heavenward powerfully. What right had he to interfere with the Superior's great purpose? Nevertheless, he set his mouth and knocked on the familiar door. The Superior was pacing the room, as his habit was. It was a long, gray-walled room, containing a few chairs, a picture of the Annunciation, a writing-table with a crucifix over it, a bookcase with, by Gard's frequent counting, one hundred and twelve books, leaving out the controversial pamphlets. It was flooded with light from three large windows. The floor was uncarpeted. Gard entered on the subject promptly. "I've found I can't take the vows, father. I'm afraid you'll never forgive me." The Superior stopped short; a spasm of pain crossed his face. Gard thought, "Now it's coming." "Do I seem to you unforgiving?" he said, sadly. "Do you know, that sin of mine was pointed out to me thirty years ago, when I was your age. I imagined it was conquered. I'm afraid I have not watched for it of late years." Gard was dumb with surprise. The Superior resumed his pacing. "I have been hoping that you would come to me in this way of your own will. You will think it best, then, to leave the brotherhood--at least for a time? Have you any plans?" "I would play in some church, father. There is Fritz Moselle." "Moselle? Yes, your teacher. A curious instance. I remember him. Made up of a thousand fragments, shivered pieces of glass, from what have been faiths and systems of philosophy, and have had, perhaps, in their time a certain fragile beauty. He probably uses such terms as 'art' and 'cosmopolitanism' in connection with it. A curious, modern type. You will learn by observing such." There was a pause. Gard began to collect himself. "When I said for a time," went on the Superior. "I meant that my hopes and your issues are in His hands, where they belong. You will write to me if you are in need." He stood still a moment. "There is one result of experience for one soul and another for another. 'As often as I have gone forth among men I have returned home less a man,' saith St. Thomas à Kempis; but the spirit of our time does not speak in this way. I suppose"--smiling--"it is only the young men who really hear what the spirit of the time says."