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The Cathedral rose from the darkness, triumphant in gold and fire. The Last Stand In Ronder's House: Ronder, Wistons
He gave us our intelligences, and therefore I presume that He meant us to make some use of them. "In these matters Mr. Wistons is exactly what we want here. He is a much- travelled man, widely experienced in affairs, excellent at business. No one who has ever met him would deny his sweetness and personal charm. I think myself that we are very fortunate to have a chance of seeing him here "
Why, he'd make Brandon's hair stand on end!" "Well," said Martin gravely, "if there's any real chance of getting Wistons into this diocese I'll work for it with my coat off." "Good," said Bentinck-Major, tapping with a little gold pencil that he had been fingering, on the table. "Now we are all agreed. The next question is, what steps are we to take?" They all looked instinctively at Ronder.
The figure was lost in the evening sun. Ronder stood there for a moment gazing at the bright grass, the little houses with their shining knockers, the purple shadow of the Cathedral. Had he done right? Was Wistons the man? Might he not be more dangerous than...? No, no, too late now. The fight with Brandon must move to its appointed end. Poor Brandon! Poor dear Brandon!
"My coming into the diocese some one, however feeble, you understand, coming in from outside made an already strong modern feeling yet stronger." "I will tell you one thing," said Wistons, suddenly shooting up his shoulders and darting forward his head. "I think all this Cathedral intrigue disgusting. No, I don't blame you.
Ronder shrugged his shoulders as though he would like to shake off from them something unpleasant that was sticking to them. He was not in a good mood this morning. He was assured of victory he had no doubt about it at all and unquestionably when the affair was settled he would feel more tranquil about it. But ever since his talk with Wistons he had been unsure of the fellow.
Archdeacon Brandon is a splendid fellow, and has done great work for the Church here, but he is behind the times, out-of-date, and too obstinate to change. Then certain, family misfortunes have hit him hard lately, and his health is not, I fear, what it was. His opposition is as good as over." "That's a swift decline," said Wistons.
"I thought that it would have to be some one in the diocese." Foster did not hear him. "I've been waiting for this to get Wistons here for years," he said. "A wonderful man a great man. He'll wake the place up. We must have him. As to local men, the more strangers we let in here the better." "Brandon said something about a man called Forsyth Rex Forsyth?" Foster smiled grimly.
You may say, and quite justly, that I have no right at all to ask you that question. It should be enough for me, I know, to realise that there are certain people here who want me to come. It ought to be enough. But it isn't. It isn't. I won't I can't come here under false pretences." "False pretences!" cried Ronder. "I assure you, dear Mr. Wistons " "Oh, yes, I know.
"What I meant was that the question whether Wistons is an atheist can be argued from many points of view." "It can not! It can not!" cried Brandon, now shaking with anger. "There can be no two points of view. 'He that is not with me is against me' " "Very well, then," said Ronder. "It can not. There is no more to be said." "There is more to be said. There is indeed.
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