"Spurred on by these reflections," proceeded the old monk, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands on his knees, "Bruno Delganni resolved to found with his fortune a secret society which would silently, noiselessly, but none the less resistlessly, band together all the real patriots in every corner of the British Empire. Their names, he resolved should never be known unless England was actually invaded, and then the St Bruno-ites should spring up like magic everywhere--in the War Office, in Parliament, in every hole and corner of the Empire-- and should take the helm of affairs with one determination and one determination alone--to make Britain the greatest, grandest, and noblest Empire ever seen since the days of Imperial Rome. Nobody in his organisation was to be afraid of place, of power, of enemies or of this wonderful birthright. All diplomatists may be born cowards, this Bruno Delganni argued, but all St Bruno-ites should be strong in the faith of the possibilities of the Greater British Empire, and should march towards the light of the world domination of the Anglo-Saxon race with the belief that this was the only way to secure the `peace on earth and goodwill towards men' which all sincere philanthropists and rulers, no matter to what nationality they belong, really crave. "Well," continued the speaker after a significant pause, "as, perhaps, you will agree, this was really the dream of a most wonderful patriot with a breadth of vision that puts each and all of our statesmen of to-day to everlasting shame, for look in the House of Commons now and tell me is there one--ay, only one--of its members--who would dare to get up in his place in Parliament to-day and even declare as a matter of righteous sentiment that England should rule the earth to safeguard the world's destinies and peace?" "There is not one," I answered, and half instinctively I bowed my head.