, curiously, just to touch it and think how the other boy had
done. The soft, much-turned leaves fell open of themselves to a heavily
marked verse. There were many marked verses all through the book.

Courtland's eyes followed the words:

He that believeth on the Son of God hath the witness in
himself.

Could it be that this strange new sense of the Presence was "the
witness" here mentioned? He knew it like his sense of rhythm, or the
look of his mother's face, or the joy of a summer morning. It was not
anything he could analyze. One might argue that there was no such thing,
science might prove there was not, but he _knew_ it, had _seen_ it,
_felt_ it! He had the witness in himself. Was that what it meant?

With troubled brow he turned over the leaves again:

If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine,
whether it be of God.

Ah! There was an offer, why not close with it?

He dropped his head on the open book with the old words of
self-surrender:

"Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?"

A moment later Pat McCluny opened the door, cautiously, quietly; then,
with a nod to Tennelly back of him, he entered with confidence.

Courtland rose. His face was white, but there was a light of something
in his eyes they did not understand.

They went over to him as if he had been a child who had been lost and
was found on some perilous height and needing to be coaxed gently away
from it.

"Oh, so you're here, Court," said Tennelly, slapping his shoulder with
gentle roughness, "Great little old room, isn't it? The fellows' idea
to keep flowers here. Kind of a continual memorial."

"Great fellow, that Steve!" said Pat, hoarsely. He could not yet speak
lightly of the hero-martyr whom he had helped to send to his fiery
grave.

But Courtland stood calmly, almost as if he had not heard them. "Pat,
Nelly," he said, turning from one to the other gravely, "I want to tell
you fellows that I have met Steve's Christ and after this I stand for
Him!"

They looked at him curiously, pityingly. They spoke with soothing words
and humored him. They led him away to his room and left him to rest.
Then they walked with solemn faces and dejected air into Bill Ward's
room and threw themselves down upon his couch.

"Where's Court?" Bill looked up from the theme he was writing.

"We found him in Steve's room," said Tennelly, gloomily, and shook his
head.

"It's a deuced shame!" burst forth Pat. (He had