He tried not to reflect on his fellow-priests, but for the fiftieth time he could not help seeing that they were not the men for the present situation.

It was not that he preferred himself; he knew perfectly well that he, too, was fully as incompetent: had he not proved to be so with poor Father Francis, and scores of others who had clutched at him in their agony during the last ten years?
Even the Archbishop, holy man as he was, with all his childlike faith--was that the man to lead English Catholics and confound their enemies?
There seemed no giants on the earth in these days.

What in the world was to be done?
He buried his face in his hands....
Yes; what was wanted was a new Order in the Church; the old ones were rule-bound through no fault of their own.

An Order was wanted without habit or tonsure, without traditions or customs, an Order with nothing but entire and whole-hearted devotion, without pride even in their most sacred privileges, without a past history in which they might take complacent refuge.

They must be _franc-tireurs_ of Christ's Army; like the Jesuits, but without their fatal reputation, which, again, was no fault of their own.