rano having consented to sing. The
murmur of voices subsided for the most part, save from a party of
elderly people, hard of hearing, who continued their absorbing
conversation throughout. Miss Trilling sang a love song with much
expression, and responded to an encore with a humorous selection. The
young people applauded loudly, and their elders smiled with indiligent
pleasure. Hubert continued his search, now rather despairing, for that
for which he had come. This time he proceeded under the guidance of a
man who offered to introduce him to some whom he did not know. They
passed a quiet little wall-flower in a sober dress and he looked at her
wistfully, seeing something in her face which made him think she knew
his Lord and would talk of Him if there were hut a chance. But his
guide drew him on. He listened to bits of conversation, straining his
ears in vain to hear one reference to Christ. The conversations were
sometimes serious, more often gay, but none spoke of their Lord.

Hubert's heart withdrew within him, and he had no further inclination
to speak to any of his new-found hope. A bitter theory was forming
itself in his mind. This company was no different from any other in
the world. Were they not all as he thought them in the days of his
scepticism? If they knew Him whom he had come to see as the supremest
Object of devotion in all the universe, could they forbear to speak of
Him when they met together? Would they not be like flaming brands,
igniting one another in their fervent zeal? He was not acquainted with
the book of Malachi, and had perhaps never read the words: "Then they
that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the Lord hearkened
and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them
that feared the Lord and that thought upon His name." Had he known the
words they would have seemed a satire in this company.

"They do not know Him," he thought passionately, "and I--am I under a
delusion? Is it all a farce?"

The suggestion was intense pain, and he put it from him. No, that One
whom he had seen in his laboratory, the Man of the cross and of the
glory, was no delusion. To admit Him to be such would be blackest
midnight. He held on to his revelation with an iron clasp, but he
longed to escape from an atmosphere that now stifled him. He made his
way to his mother and Winifred.

"Shall I take you to the refreshment room?" he asked in a cold,
strained voice.