her happiness! No; she did not love him. He had read enough
about women and seen enough of them to imagine that they never torture
the man they really love. He would give her up and throw himself again
into his work. He could surely do that. Then he remembered that she
was married, and must, of course, see that she would risk her
position--everything--by declaring her love. Perhaps prudence kept her
silent. Once more he was plunged in doubt.

He was glad when supper was ready, for that brought, at least for half
an hour, freedom from thought. After the meal was finished he realized
that he was weary of it all--heart-sick of the suspense. The storm
broke, and the flashing of the lightning and the falling sheets of rain
brought him relief. The air became lighter and purer. He went to bed and
slept heavily.

On the Thursday morning he awoke refreshed, and at once determined
not to think about Mrs. Hooper. It only needed resolution, he said to
himself, in order to forget her entirely. Her indifference, shown in not
writing to him, should be answered in that way. He took up his pocket
Bible, and opened it at the Gospels. The beautiful story soon exercised
its charm upon his impressionable nature, and after a couple of hours'
reading he closed the book comforted, and restored to his better self.
He fell on his knees and thanked God for this crowning mercy. From his
heart went forth a hymn of praise for the first time in long weeks. The
words of the Man of Sorrows had lifted him above the slough. The marvel
of it! How could he ever thank Him enough? His whole life should now be
devoted to setting forth the wonders of His grace. When he arose he felt
at peace with himself and full of goodwill to every one. He could even
think of Mrs. Hooper calmly--with pity and grave kindliness.

After his midday dinner and a brisk walk-->he paid no attention to the
mail time--he prepared to write the sermon which he intended to preach
as his farewell to his congregation on the following Sunday. He was
determined now to leave Kansas City and go to Chicago. But as soon as he
began to consider what he should say, he became aware of a difficulty.
He could talk and write of accepting the "call" because it gave him "a
wider ministry," and so forth, but the ugly fact would obtrude itself
that he was relinquishing five thousand dollars a year to accept ten,
and he was painfully conscious that this knowledge would be uppermost in
the minds of his h