ht of
morning steals through the barred windows into the corridor and through
the grated door into my cell.

What next?

I do not know.

Suddenly there wells up within me a feeling which is no longer rage, it is
a great resistless wave of sympathy for those poor fellows in that Hell I
have just left; for those who have ever been there; for those in danger of
going there; for all the inmates of this great city within the walls--this
great community ruled by hate--where wickedness is the expected
thing--where love is forbidden and cast out.

Obeying an impulse I could not control if I would, I throw myself on my
knees, with my arms on the chair and my face in my hands, and pray to Our
Father who art in Heaven.

My prayer is for wisdom, for courage, for strength. Wisdom to determine my
duty, courage to endeavor, and strength to persevere.

May I be an instrument in Thy hands, O God, to help others to see the
light, as Thou hast led me to see the light. And may no impatience,
prejudice, or pride of opinion on my part hinder the service Thou hast
given me to do.

CHAPTER XIV

SUNDAY--THE END

After the emotional crisis I have just passed through, I find myself quite
unstrung. For nearly half an hour I can do nothing but sit, limp and
exhausted, in the chair and give way to my feelings. On the whole, this is
a relief, although it leaves me very weak and wretched. At length, the
realization that I must soon take my place in line for the duties of the
early morning pulls me together; and after pouring cool water from the
meager supply in my pail over my head and face, rearranging my clothes,
and draining to the bottom my tin drinking cup, I am somewhat refreshed.
Looking out from my cell across the corridor and through the barred
windows of the outer wall, I find the promise of a bright, sunny day; but
it gives me no pleasure. I feel utterly dull and depressed. Only a few
hours more and I shall be gone forever from this narrow cell--back to my
own comfortable home; but the thought arouses no enthusiasm. It does not
seem to matter much in the sum of things whether I go or stay. Nothing
seems to matter much except the physical sufferings of those poor fellows
down in the jail; and at the thought a bitter anger sweeps over me again.

After a few moments, however, I once more regain control of myself, and
wait patiently at the door of the cell for the day's routine to begin.

Before long I hear in the corridor