lly, the world with its elusive joys,
love with its deceptions so cruel and so sweet-all, all came sweeping up
on him like the sea-wrack out of a storm. In an instant the truth
appeared to him, and he understood himself at last. For Glory's sake he
had sacrificed everything and deceived himself before God and man. And
yet she had failed him and forsaken him, and slipped out of his hands in
the end. The tide had overtaken and surrounded him, and the voices of the
girls and the children were like the roar of the waters in his ears.

But what was this? Why had they stopped singing? All at once he became
aware that everybody else was seated, and that he was standing alone on
the edge of the platform with Glory's letter in his hand.

"Hush! hush!" There was a strained silence, and he tried to recollect
what it was that he was expected to do. Every eye was on his face. Some
of the strangers opened note-books and sat ready to write. Then, coming
to himself, he understood what was before him, and tried to control his
voice and begin.

"Girls," he said, but he was hardly able to speak or breathe. "Girls," he
said again, but his strong voice shook, and he tried in vain to go on.

One of the girls began to sob. Then another and another. It was said
afterward that nobody could look on his drawn face, so hopeless, so full
of the traces of suffering and bitter sadness, without wanting to cry
aloud. But he controlled himself at length.

"My good friends all, you came to-night to bid me Godspeed on a long
journey and I came to bid you farewell. But there is a higher power that
rules our actions, and it is little we know of our own future, or our
fate or ourselves. God bids me tell you that my leper island is to be
London, and that my work among you is not done yet."

After saying this he stood a moment as if intending to say more, but he
said nothing. The letter crinkled in his fingers, he looked at it, an
expression of helplessness came into his face, and he sat down. And then
the Father came up to him and sat beside him, and took his hand and
comforted it as if he had been a little child.

There was another attempt to sing, but the hymn made no headway this
time, for some of the girls were crying, they hardly knew why, and others
were whispering, and the strangers were leaving the room. Two ladies were
going down the stairs.

"I felt sure he wouldn't go," said one.

"Why so?" said the other.

"I can't tell you. I had my pr