praying aloud that the Divine Son of Man would return
to earth and set up His kingdom.

Sometimes there was more light upon the dark scene, sometimes less, for
giant rays of the northern light stalked the sky, passing from it,
coming again, giving light faintly.

Trenholme felt an uncontrollable excitement come over him. His mind was
carried out of himself, not so much to the poor man who was praying, as
to the Divine Man to whom the supplication was addressed; for the voice
of prayer spoke directly from the heart of the speaker to One who he
evidently felt was his friend. The conviction of this other man that he
knew to whom he was speaking caught hold of Alec Trenholme's mind with
mastering force; he had no conviction of his own; he was not at all
sure, as men count certainty, whether there was, or was not, any ear but
his own listening to the other's words; but he did not notice his own
belief or unbelief in the matter, any more than he noticed the air
between him and the stars. The colourlessness of his own mind took on
for the time the colour of the other's.

And the burden of the prayer was this: Our Father, thy kingdom come.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus.

The hardihood of the prayer was astonishing; all tender arguments of
love were used, all reasonable arguments as of friend with friend and
man with man, and its lengthened pathos was such that Trenholme felt
his heart torn for pity within him.

"Look here!" he said at last. (He had been listening he knew not how
long, but the planets in the sky above had moved westward. He took hold
of the old man.) "Look here! He won't come so that you can see Him; but
He's here just the same, you know."

The only result was that the old man ceased speaking aloud, and
continued as if in silent prayer.

It seemed irreverent to interrupt him. Trenholme stood again irresolute,
but he knew that for himself at least it was madness to stand longer
without exercise in the keen night.

"Come, Lord Jesus!" cried the old man again in loud anguish. "Come. The
world is needing only Thee. We are so wicked, so foolish, so weak--we
need Thee. Come!"

Whether or not his companion had the full use of eyes and ears,
Trenholme was emboldened by the memory of the help he had received on
his fall to believe that he could make himself heard and understood. He
shouted as if to one deaf: "The Lord is here. He is with you now, only
you can't see Him. You needn't stay here. I don't know who you