m he saw a huge rock. At
least that would shelter him somewhat, and with difficulty he made his
way towards it. From there he could watch the tornado of the elements.

"Is there a God behind it all, I wonder?" he thought as thunder-clap
followed thunder-clap, and the whole heavens were lit up with streaks of
light. "If there is, does He care? Yes, there is a God, there must be. I
wonder if that woman was right? Did Jesus Christ come to tell us what
God was like? Is there any meaning in that story? She believes it, and
she says that that man Aaron Goudge found peace in it. I wonder, now; I
wonder."

"God help me!" he cried presently. It was an involuntary prayer. It had
passed his lips even before he knew, and yet, although he knew it not,
it was the natural expression of a soul in torment.

He laughed aloud. "I've been praying," he said. "Well, why not? I wonder
now if God cares? Would He hear me if I spoke to Him?"

The thought struck him as curious. He had scarcely ever prayed in his
life, but somehow there was a meaning in it now. Some words came back to
his mind, like the memory of some forgotten dream. "Are not two sparrows
sold for a farthing? and yet not one of them falls to the ground without
your Heavenly Father. Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall
find; knock, and the door shall be opened unto you."

Who said that? Yes, it was Jesus, the Man of Galilee, who claimed to be
the Son of God. Was God His Father? Well, and why should he not pray?

Perhaps it was because of the experience through which he had been
passing, perhaps it was because of the storm which swept in mad fury
across the moors, or perhaps it was because of a deeper reason which no
man can put into words, but Leicester knelt down on the heather and
prayed while the lightnings flashed and the thunder rolled.

He uttered no wild, incoherent cries, he scarcely spoke a word; but he
prayed, and as he prayed the whole of his life seemed to sweep before
him. Things forgotten, thoughts that were strange, visions seen only
from afar came to him. There was something awesome, majestic about it
all--the storm-tossed man pouring out his soul to his Maker, amidst the
storm-rent heavens.

"Great God, tell me what to do, and I'll do it," he said at length. No
voice came out of the skies, no message came to him from out of the
angry winds. The storm still swept on in wild fury. How long he knelt he
knew not, it might have been hours, but he knew