alone. Dr. Talacryn had seemed anxious for his company since that day in London; and George was inclined to value kindness. The Bishop of Caerleon appeared to be precisely what the new-fledged priest knew himself to need—a sympathetic expert subintelligent walking-stick, honest and sturdy as oak. Oh, for the certainty of fidelity! Presently George took out his cherished edition of Theokritos by Estienne. In spare moments, he was introducing his companion to the melody of Greek; and together they read and analyzed the twelfth idyll.

When

[Pg 81]

An hour later, the bishop suggested that they should go into the Pauline Chapel and say some prayers. George followed him. Prayer is a mind-cleanser—the best: anyhow it is an effort always due. They looked for a clean four-feet-of-floor: kneeled side by side; and got into communication with the Unseen. George's method was intellectual rather than formal. To him, with his keen and carefully cultivated sense of the ridiculous, the absurdity of a human individual composing complacent criticisms of Divine decrees, hashing up scriptural and liturgical tags with a proper and essentially sensuous pleasure in patchwork, seemed like gratuitous impertinence. "Dear Jesus, be not to me a Judge, but a Saviour," was all the form of words which he used. It included everything, as far as he could see. He repeated it over and over again and again like a wonderful incantation; and anon it had its psychic effect. He became in direct communication with the Invisible Omniscient, to Whom all hearts are open, from Whom no secrets are hid. It was just his own method, compiled from bitter-sweet experience. In time, he began to finger his moonstone rosary, concentrating his meditation on the Mystery of the Annunciation: his mind strenuously went to work on that: his lips swiftly enunciated the prayers. After five decades he said Salve Regina: and examined his conscience. Was there any difference in him? He felt more clear:[Pg 82] he felt that he had effected some kind of a difference. That was relief. But was it worth anything? Wasn't it stained? Was he really strengthened by the exercise? For example, was he now filled and inflamed with pure Love? No. Was he any nearer to pure Love, fit to be thought of, even harshly, by pure Love? No. Well: he had done his best: it would come some day. God be merciful to us all poor sinners.

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He looked at the bishop, two weeks his junior in years, two centuries his senior in worth of every kind. The cheerful satisfied stolidity of that one, turning 

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