"Brother Gimblet," said the shopman (who
was one of the Brotherhood), " is with him."

I thought this all the better for niy purpose,
and made bold to tap again. They were talking
in a low tone, and money was passing, for
I heard it being counted out.

"Who is it P" asked Brother Hawkyard,
sharply.

"George Silverman," I answered, holding the
door open. "May I come in?"

Both Brothers seemed so astounded to see
me, that I felt shyer than usual. But they
looked quite cadaverous in the early gaslight,
and perhaps that accidental circumstance
exaggerated the expression of their faces.

"What is the matter?" asked Brother
Hawkyard.

"Aye! What is the matter?" asked Brother
Gimblet.

"Nothing at all," I said, diffidently
producing my document." I am only the bearer
of a letter from myself."

"From yourself, George?" cried Brother
Hawkyard.

"And to you," said I.

"And to me, George?"

He turned paler, and opened it hurriedly;
but looking over it, and seeing generally what
it was, became less hurried, recovered his colour,
and said: " Praise the Lord!"

"That's it!" cried Brother Gimblet. " Well
put! Amen."

Brother Hawkyard then said, in a livelier
strain: " You must know, George, that Brother
Gimblet and I are going to make our two
businesses, one. We are going into partnership.
We are settling it now. Brother Gimblet is to
take one clear half of the profits. (O yes!
And he shall have it, he shall have it to the
last farthing!)"

"D.V.!" said Brother Gimblet, with his right,
fist firmly clenched on his right leg.

"There is no objection," pursued Brother
Hawkyard, " to my reading this aloud, George?"

As it was what I expressly desired should be
done, after yesterday's prayer, I more than
readily begged him to read it aloud. He did
so, and Brother Gimblet listened with a crabbed
smile.

"It was in a good hour that I came here,"
he said, wrinkling up his eyes. " It was in a
good hour likewise, that I was moved yesterday
to depict for the terror of evil-doers, a character
the direct opposite of Brother Hawkyard's.
But it was the Lord that done it. I felt him
at it, while I was perspiring."

After that, it was proposed by both of them
that I should attend the congregation once more,
before my final departure. What my shy reserve
would undergo from being expressly preached
at and prayed at, I knew beforehand. But
I reflected that it would be for the last time,
and that it might add to the weight of my letter.
It was well known to the Brothers and Sisters
that there was no place taken for me in their
Paradise, and if I showed this last token of
deference to Brother Hawkyard, notoriously in
despite of my own sinful inclinations, it might
go some little way in aid of my statement that
lie had been good to me, and that I was grateful
to him. Merely stipulating, therefore, that no
express endeavour should be made for my
conversion—which would involve the rolling of
several Brothers and Sisters on the floor,
declaring that they felt all their sins in a heap on
their left side, weighing so many pounds
avoirdupoise—as I knew from what I had seen of those
repulsive mysteries—I promised.

Since the reading of my letter, Brother
Gimblet had been at intervals wiping one eye
with an end of his spotted blue neckerchief,
and grinning to himself. It was, howerer, a
habit that Brother had, to grin in an ugly
manner even while expounding. I call to mind
a delighted snarl with which he used to detail
from the platform, the torments reserved for
the wicked (meaning all human creation,
except the Brotherhood), as being remarkably
hideous.

I left the two to settle their articles of
partnership, and count money; and I never saw
them again but on the following Sunday.
Brother Hawkyard died within two or three
years, leaving all he possessed to Brother
Gimblet, in virtue of a will dated (as I have
been told) that very day.

Now, I was so far at rest with myself when
Sunday came, knowing that I had conquered
my own mistrust, and righted Brother
Hawkyard in the jaundiced vision of a rival, that I
went, even to that coarse chapel, in a less
sensitive state than usual. How could I foresee
that the delicate, perhaps the diseased,
corner of my mind, where I winced and shrunk
when it was touched or was even approached,
would be handled as the theme of the whole
proceedings?

On this occasion, it was assigned to Brother
Hawkyard to pray, and to Brother Gimblet to
preach. The prayer was to open the
ceremonies; the discourse was to come next.
Brothers Hawkyard and Gimblet were both on
the platform: Brother Hawkyard on his knees
at the table, unmusically ready to pray: Brother
Gimblet sitting against the wall, grinningly ready
to preach.

"Let us offer up the sacrifice of prayer, my
brothers and sisters and fellow-sinners." Yes.
But it was I who was the sacrifice. It was our
poor sinful worldly-minded Brother here present,
who was wrestled for. The now-opening career
of this our unawakened Brother might lead to his
becoming a minister of what was called The
Church. That was what he looked to. The
Church. Not the chapel, Lord. The Church.
No rectors, no vicars, no archdeacons, no
bishops, no archbishops, in the chapel; but, O
Lord, many such in the Church! Protect our
sinful Brother from his love of lucre. Cleanse
from our unawakened Brother's breast, his sin
of worldly-mindedness. The prayer said
infinitely more in words, but nothing more to any
intelligible effect.

Then Brother Gimblet came forward, and
took (as I knew he would) the text, My kingdom
is not of this world. Ah! But whose