Wayne was silent for what seemed a long time, for he was half-ashamed of the question he wished to ask. “How did it happen that you found me that first night when I was actually at the point of tumbling over the cliff out yonder?” “My dear Craighill, I wish you wouldn’t ask me hard questions like that,” laughed the big priest. “You may call that chance, if you please. I did not follow you by intention, or know as a matter of fact that you had gone in that direction.” Stoddard was silent for a moment; then he laughed happily. “You don’t believe in my God, you tell me, but, my dear fellow, I believe in yours!” Wayne’s hand shook as he drew it across his face. “Don’t send me away from here,” he pleaded huskily. “This isn’t the place for you, my brother, my friend. The world isn’t wholly bad--not by any means--you must go back to it,” said Stoddard kindly. “If you feel at any time that I can help you, send for me; the doors of this house are open to you day and night. We are often widely scattered--only one brother remains here always and you can come at any time without notice. But to-morrow you must go back and take your place in the ranks of the fighting men.” The priest rose. For a moment he rested his hands lightly on Wayne’s shoulders. “Good night. God bless you, Wayne Craighill.” * * * * * Wayne returned immediately to Pittsburg and to his father’s house. Mrs. Blair, to whom he reported promptly by telephone, greeted him in her usual excited fashion, but, having been charged by Wingfield, through her husband, not to force Wayne to discuss his banishment, she was obliged to forego the pleasure of acquainting herself with her brother’s experience of the monastic life. His Christmas gifts from her house were still piled on his dressing-table where he found also the haberdashery his father always bestowed upon him; and there was a book inscribed “Addie to Wayne, Christmas, 1907.” His father greeted him with that urbane tolerance with which Wayne had long been familiar. The prodigal’s place at the table was waiting, and no painful questions were asked as to the cause of his absence. Mrs. Craighill showed her brightest face, and no chance visitor would have known that the son of the house had last appeared in it on the eve of a prolonged spree. There was no exchange of confidences, no confessions, no exhortations behind closed doors. Colonel Craighill talked of social affairs and of the events of the new year, and Wayne added a word now and then when Addie’s eyes beseeched his. He was sorry for Addie, who did not know or care what progress was making in disarmament or whether the African slave traffic had really been abolished.