e mystery of salvation.'

'Then, Mr. Penrose, I ask you--why don't we make our wills God's?'

Mr. Penrose was silent, and then he made a slip, and played into
his opponent's hands by saying:

'My faith in a final restitution meets that difficulty. We shall
all be God's some time; His love is bound to conquer.'

'Suppose what you call Will defies God's love, what then?'

'It cannot.'

'Then it is no longer will.'

'Cannot you conceive of Will winning Will?'

'I can conceive of Will, as you define it, defying Will, and that
for ever. But we escape your contradictions; we accept the fact
that some men are under a Divine control they cannot resist--'

'Then you both agree as to the principle,' broke in Dr. Hale; 'you
are both Calvinists, with this difference: you, Mr. Morell, say
only the few will be called; Mr. Penrose, here, says all will be
called. Let us go in for the larger hope.'

'You are right, doctor. I am a Calvinistic Universalist,' cried
Mr. Penrose in triumph.

And Mr. Morell was bound to admit the doctor had scored.

It was not long, however, before Mr. Penrose found a spring of
tenderness hidden beneath the crust of Calvinism that lay around
the old man's soul, and on which were written in fiery characters
the terrors of a merciless law. And the rod that smote this rock
and tapped the spring was none other than the story of Amanda's
return and repentance, told in part by Dr. Hale and in part by the
young pastor himself.

As the story was unfolded, the old man evinced much feeling, often
raising his hand to shade fast-filling eyes, or to brush away the
tears that fell down his furrowed face. They told him of Amanda's
silence as to the past, and he commended her for it, remarking to
Mr. Penrose that the true penitent seldom talked of the yesterdays
of sin; they told him how she counted herself unworthy of home and
of love, seeking blame and not welcome from the mother to whom she
had returned, and he declared it to be a token of her call; they
told him of the great light and peace that fell on her as she
rested on the goodness of God, and they heard from him the echo of
his Master's words over Mary--'She hath loved much, for she hath
had much forgiven'; and then they told him of her desire for the
restoration of her name on the Rehoboth register, and he was
silent--and for some minutes no sound disturbed his reverie.

That silence was God's speaking hour. Within the old pastor's soul
a voice