cataloguing the features of a face whose true glory was its saintly yet genial expression. Here was no rigid ascetic; here no fanatical persecutor. When you looked on Archdeacon Roach you were apt to be reminded neither of Simeon on his pillar nor of Torquemada tightening his thumbscrews. Did you think of St. Francis of Assisi? But this is unprofitable. I only want to make it clear to you that Archdeacon Roach was both a very good and a very broad man; he could, I mean, temper if not with tolerance, at least with sympathy that uncompromising attitude towards the vices and follies of other men which, as a clergyman, he was bound to maintain. But this is not to say that he was the sort of clergyman whom you would expect to find writing a novel. Emphatically, he wasn't. Emphatically, too, he never expected to find
