the omelettes which were his alone to make by
special dispensation, and after supper Ringfield walked out to the
great Fall, remaining till it was dark and late--so late that he knew
no one would pass that way. Then he knelt on a slab of rock and lifted
up his voice in this wise:--

"O Lord," he began, "look down on Thine unworthy servant. Help him and
guide his footsteps aright. He has returned to this place and to this
people. Assist him to preach the truth of the Gospel in the wilderness
and to those who know Thee not. Make him kind and keep him humble.
Give him light and understanding that he may be acceptable in this
place and that he may witness for Thee and for the Gospel, and that his
labours may be blessed and the harvest thereof indeed be great." He
paused, his eyes opening on the white wilderness of the Fall. Knowing
that the roar of its foaming waters would drown his voice he did not
scruple to use his fine, sonorous tones to the full, and went on again:
"Strip from Thy servant, O God Most High, all that savours of self.
Strike at sin if it lodgeth in him; cause him to remember now his
Creator in the days of his youth. Grant him wisdom in dealing with the
froward, and may Thy Holy Spirit descend in this solemn evening hour
and be with him now through the watches of the night and to-morrow when
he rises to plead Thy righteous cause. For Christ's sake, Amen."

The mixture of the orthodox circuit style with an occasional direct and
colloquial abruptness made this prayer worthy of record, and after
silent meditation under the dark, swaying pine-trees, Ringfield, braced
by temporary abandonment of self, returned to Poussette's. As he rose
from his knees, however, something rolled down several ledges of rock
and he promptly went after it and picked it up. It proved to be a
book, not very large, and opening easily, but there was no light to
view it by, and it was not until he came near the village windows that
he discovered it to be, much to his astonishment, a well-worn copy of
Tennyson's Poems. On the fly-leaf were the initials "E. C. H." and
underneath, the word "Oxford" and date "1873". Ringfield took it up to
his room; some tourist had probably dropped it, and it was safer with
him than with Poussette. But when had an Oxford man passed that way?

CHAPTER VII

THE OXFORD MAN

"Here Nature was my guide,
The Nature of the dissolute; but Thee,
O fostering Nature! I rejected..."