ing of a
hidden door which would open and reveal the shining face of God! How
strange that these old ideas of the religion of his childhood should
come surging back into his heart from the past in just this moment when
he was apparently fighting a losing battle to hold the last shred of
his faith in anything human or divine!

He went to bed in a calmer frame of mind than he had known for days.
His sleep was deep and refreshing and for the second time since he came
to New York he woke with the dawn. He watched the light of the coming
sun spread from the eastern horizon until its gray mantle covered the
world. And then came the first dim notes of the call of the morning to
the great city, and then the long dull roar along the line of battle
where millions were rising and girding themselves for the struggle of
life.

He drew a breath of gratitude for the dawn of a new day, God's miracle
of love--the old weariness gone, the loneliness and heartache easier to
bear because new thoughts and new hopes had begun dimly to stir and the
world was suddenly flooded with the glory of a new sun.

He went to his office with his mind keyed to a higher pitch of power.
He felt that he was on his mettle. The fight was not yet won, but this
morning he was winning. He plunged into his work with tireless zeal.
Everything he touched seemed illumined with a new light.

At the close of the day's work he was still conscious of an exhaustless
pity which had found no adequate expression in his labour on his
clients' cases. His mind wandered to the dark silent millions into
whose world the doctor had led him that night--millions who have no
voice in courts because they have no money to sustain a fight for the
enforcement of justice. He had never thought about these people before.
They were calling now for his help. Why? Because he had been endowed
with powers of head and heart which they did not possess. The
possession of these gifts carried a responsibility. He fell this very
dimly as yet, but still he felt it. Never before had he been conscious
of such an idea.

On reaching his club on Gramercy Park he saw that the Primrose house
was closed. Nan's mother had gone with the bridal party on Bivens's big
yacht for a cruise which would last through the summer. Somehow, for
all his brave talk he didn't feel equal to the task of seeing that
window of Nan's old home from his club. He was about to beat a retreat
when he stopped abruptly and the lines