e went on blindly: he followed her. For years he had set apart this girl
to help him in his scheme: he would not be balked now. He had great hopes
from his plan: he meant to give all he had: it was the noblest of aims. He
thought some day it would work like leaven through the festering mass
under the country he loved so well, and raise it to a new life. If it
failed,--if it failed, and saved one life, his work was not lost. But it
could not fail.

"Home!" he said, stopping her as she reached the stile,--"oh, Margaret,
what is home? There is a cry going up night and day from homes like that
den yonder, for help,--and no man listens."

She was weak; her brain faltered.

"Does God call me to this work? Does He call me?" she moaned.

He watched her eagerly.

"He calls you. He waits for your answer. Swear to me that you will help
His people. Give up father and mother and love, and go down as Christ did.
Help me to give liberty and truth and Jesus' love to these wretches on the
brink of hell. Live with them, raise them with you."

She looked up, white; she was a weak, weak woman, sick for her natural
food of love.

"Is it my work?"

"It is your work. Listen to me, Margaret," softly. "Who cares for you? You
stand alone to-night. There is not a single human heart that calls you
nearest and best. Shiver, if you will,--it is true. The man you wasted
your soul on left you in the night and cold to go to his bride,--is
sitting by her now, holding her hand in his."

He waited a moment, looking down at her, until she should understand.

"Do you think you deserved this of God? I know that yonder on the muddy
road you looked up to Him, and knew it was not just; that you had done
right, and this was your reward. I know that for these two years you have
trusted in the Christ you worship to make it right, to give you your
heart's desire. Did He do it? Did He hear your prayer? Does He care for
your weak love, when the nations of the earth are going down? What is your
poor hope to Him, when the very land you live in is a wine-press that will
be trodden some day by the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God? O
Christ!--if there be a Christ,--help me to save it!"

He looked up,--his face white with pain. After a time he said to her,--

"Help me, Margaret! Your prayer was selfish; it was not heard. Give up
your idle hope that Christ will aid you. Swear to me, this night when you
have lost all, to give yourself to this work."

The s