he had not seen her since his flight from Atlantic City, for he
had removed from the Airedale mansion before her return, and had
made himself a bed in the corner of the vestry-room. He feared
she was angry: there had been a vigorous growling note in some of
the bass pipes of the organ as she played the opening hymn. He
had not seen a tall white-haired figure who came into the chapel
rather late, after the service had begun, and took a seat at the
back. Bishop Borzoi had seized the opportunity to drive out to
Dalmatian Heights this morning to see how his protege was getting
on. When the Bishop saw his lay reader appear in surplice and
scarlet hood, he was startled. But when the amateur parson
actually ascended the pulpit, the Bishop's face was a study. The
hair on the back of his neck bristled slightly.

"It is so easy," Gissing continued, "to let life go by us in its
swift amusing course, that sometimes it hardly seems worth while
to attempt any bold strokes for truth. Truth, of course, does not
need our assistance; it can afford to ignore our errors. But in
this quiet place, among the whisper of the trees, I seem to have
heard a disconcerting sound. I have heard laughter, and I think
it is the laughter of God."

The congregation stirred a little, with polite uneasiness. This
was not quite the sort of thing to which they were accustomed.

"Why should God laugh? I think it is because He sees that very
often, when we pretend to be worshipping Him, we are really
worshipping and gratifying ourselves. I used the phrase 'Great
Affairs.' The point I want to make is that God deals with far
greater affairs than we have realized. We have imagined Him on