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Updated: June 8, 2025
But I don't wish to be contentious; there's been contention enough in this place during these last months, and I'm sick and ashamed of the share I've had in it. I won't say more than this that if you want an honest, God-fearing man here, who lives only for God and is in his most secret chamber as he is before men, then Wistons is your man. I understand that some of you are afraid of his books.
He had never seen a photograph of Wistons, and the man had never been described to him. From all that he had heard and read of him, he had pictured him a tall, lean ascetic, a kind of Dante and Savonarola in one, a magnificent figure of protest and abjuration.
I think we were last week agreed that two names stood out from the others. If to-day we cannot agree on one of those two names, we must then consider a third. That will not, I hope, be necessary. The two names most favourably considered by us are those of the Rev. Rex Forsyth, Chaplain to Bishop Clematis, and the Rev. Ambrose Wistons of St. Edward's Hawston.
"You are what we need here," he said. "You shall shake some of our comfort from us make a new life here for us." Wistons was suddenly almost timid. He spoke as though he were waking from some dream. "Good-bye.... Good-bye. No, don't come down. Thank you so much. Thank you. Very kind of you. Good-bye." But Ronder insisted on coming down. They shook hands at his door.
He longed, here and now, to do something for some one, to give some children pennies, some poor old men a good meal, to lend some one his pounds, to speak a good word in public for some one maligned, to "Mr. Wistons, sir," said the maid. When he turned round only his exceeding politeness prevented him from a whistle of astonishment.
But we've got to win! There's never been such a chance for us! If Brandon wins now our opportunity is gone for another generation. What Wistons can do here if he comes! The power that he will be!" Suddenly there came into Ronder's mind for the first time the thought that was to recur to him very often in the future.
And as far as this Pybus living went, it was all very well to be modern and advanced, but wasn't Ronder advocating for the appointment a man who laughed at the Gospels and said that there were no such things as snakes and apples in the Garden of Eden? After all, he was a foreigner, and Brandon belonged to them. Poor old Brandon! Ronder was in his study, waiting for Wistons.
Foster smiled. "There's only one Wistons," he said, pride ringing in his voice as though he were speaking of his favourite son, "for all the world." "Why, that would be magnificent," Martin said, "if he'd come. But would he? I should think that very doubtful." "I think he would," said Foster softly, still as though he were speaking to himself. "Why, that, of course, is wonderful!"
It had a very slight accent, so slight that no one could ever decide on its origin. The books said that Wistons had been born in London, and that his father had been Rector of Lambeth for many years; it was also quickly discovered by penetrating Polcastrians that he had a not very distant French ancestry. Was it Cockney?
"Yes he would," he said, "that's just his kind of appointment. Well, if he tries to pull that through there'll be such a battle as this place has never seen." Ronder said slowly. "I like your idea of Wistons. That sounds interesting." Foster looked at him with a new intensity. "Would you help me about that?" he asked.
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