He knew now perfectly what these good people thought; they had discovered his clandestine connexion, the magnet that had drawn him for so many years, and doubtless attached a significance of their own to the odd words they had repeated to him.

The nameless lady was the clandestine connexion--a fact nothing could have made clearer than his indecent haste to rejoin her.

He sank on his knees before his altar while his head fell over on his hands.

His weakness, his life's weariness overtook him.

It seemed to him he had come for the great surrender.