I could barely speak my thanks, so much did the kindly sympathy move me;
the revulsion from the anxiety and fear of rebuff was strong enough to be
almost pain. But Dean Stanley did more than I asked. He suggested that he
should call that afternoon, and have a quiet chat with my mother, and
then come again on the following day to administer the Sacrament.

"A stranger's presence is always trying to a sick person," he said, with
rare delicacy of thought; "and joined to the excitement of the service it
might be too much for your dear mother. If I spend half-an-hour with her
to-day, and administer the Sacrament to-morrow, it will, I think, be
better for her."

So Dean Stanley came that afternoon, and remained talking with my mother
for about half-an-hour, and then set himself to understand my own
position. He finally told me that conduct was far more important than
theory, and that he regarded all as "Christians" who recognised and tried
to follow the moral law. On the question of the absolute Deity of Jesus
he laid but little stress; Jesus was, "in a special sense", the "Son of
God", but it was folly to jangle about words with only human meanings
when dealing with the mysteries of divine existence, and above all it was
folly to make such words into dividing lines between earnest souls. The
one important matter was the recognition of "duty to God and man", and
all who were one in that recognition might rightfully join in an act of
worship, the essence of which was not acceptance of dogma, but love of
God and self-sacrifice for man. "The Holy Communion", he said, in his
soft tones, "was never meant to divide from each other hearts that are
searching after the one true God; it was meant by its founder as a symbol
of unity, not of strife".

On the following day he came again, and celebrated the "Holy Communion"