We thought this very fine, and Doe, who generally carried on these conversations while I was silent, inquired what exactly this faith might be, which was neither Protestantism nor Romanism.

“Rehearse the articles of my belief, eh?” laughed Monty.  “Well, I believe in the Mass, and I believe in confession, and I believe that where you’ve those, you’ve everything else.”

“And what’s the outstanding fact of the war?” asked Doe.

“The outstanding fact of my experience at least, Gazelle, has been the astonishing loyalty to his chaplains and his church of that awful phenomenon, the young High Church fop, the ecclesiastical youth.  He has known what his chaplains are for, and what they can give him; he hasn’t needed to be looked up and persuaded to do his religious duties, but has rather looked up his chaplains and persuaded them to do theirs—­confound his impudence!  He has got up early and walked a mile for his Mass.  His faith, for all its foppery, has stood four-square.”

Monty started to relight his pipe, forgetting again in his enthusiasm all routine orders.  He tossed the match away, and added: 

“Yes:  and there’s another whose religion is vital—­the extreme Protestant.  He’s a gem!  I disagree with him on every point, and I love him.”

Monty held the floor.  We were content to wait in silence for him to continue.  He looked at a bright star and murmured, as if thinking aloud: 

“Out there—­out there the spike has come into his own.”

“What’s a spike?” interrupted Doe, intent on learning his part.

“They called those High Church boys who before the war could talk of nothing but cottas and candles, ‘spikes.’  They were a bit insufferable.  But, by Jove, they’ve had to do without all those pretty ornaments out there, and they’ve proved that they had the real thing.  My altar has generally been two ration boxes, marked ‘Unsweetened Milk,’ but the spike has surrounded it.  And, look here, Gazelle, the spike knows how to die.  He just asks for his absolution and his last sacrament, and—­and dies.”

There was silence again.  All we heard was the ship chopping along through the dark sea, and distant voices in the saloons below.  And we thought of the passing of the spike, shriven, and with food for his journey.

“And what are we to believe about the Mass?” asked Doe, who, deeply interested, had turned in his chair towards Monty.

Monty told us.  He told us things strange for us to hear.  We were to believe that the bread and wine, after consecration, were the same Holy Thing as the Babe of Bethlehem; and we could come to Mass, not to partake, but to worship like the shepherds and the magi; and there, and there only, should we learn how to worship.  He told us that the Mass was the most dramatic service in the world, for it was the acting before God of Calvary’s ancient sacrifice; and under the shadow of that sacrifice we could pray out all our longings and all our loneliness.