A youth, however, who had noticed the Bishop's entrance, took him in charge, and, conducting him through two other crowded rooms, knocked reverently at the door of an apartment at the far end of the suite.

The door was opened, after a brief delay, by a young man of unpleasant appearance, who gazed suspiciously at the distinguished visitor through heavy spectacles.
"The Bishop wishes to see Mr.Fenn," his guide announced.
"Show him in at once," a voice from the middle of the room directed.
"You can go and have your lunch, Johnson." The Bishop found himself alone with the man whom he had come to visit,--a moderately tall, thin figure, badly-dressed, with a drooping moustache, bright eyes and good forehead, but peevish expression.

He stood up while he shook hands with the Bishop and motioned him to a chair.
"First time you've honoured us, Bishop," he remarked, with the air of one straining after an equality which he was far from feeling.
"I felt an unconquerable impulse to talk with you," the Bishop admitted.
"Tell me your news ?" "Everything progresses," Nicholas Fenn declared confidently.

"The last eleven days have seen a social movement in this country, conducted with absolute secrecy, equivalent in its portentous issues to the greatest revolution of modern times.

For the first time in history, Bishop, the united voice of the people has a chance of making itself heard." "Mr.Fenn," the Bishop said, "you have accomplished a wonderful work.
Now comes the moment when we must pause and think.