lace, and the anxious care that governed each Sunday's work. To bring
his choir to the perfect standard of musical merit which his artist
soul craved was his ambition. He knew pleasure as he approximated to
that goal, and vexation almost to despair when he fell far short. He
knew it was not before God but at another shrine he poured out his
soul's libation.

"I know I am not a worshiper," he said. "I have never professed to be
a Christian--oh, I am not a Mohammedan or a Hindu!--but I do not
profess to be a follower of the Lord Jesus Christ. I should not like,"
he said reflectively, "to add to a life indifferent to my Creator the
insult of a mock worship."

He bent his brows heavily to consider if such a course were really his.
"I would leave the whole thing to-day," he said vehemently, "as you are
doing, Miss Gray, if I could. I would follow other lines in my
profession, but I am in this now and it is my living. It means bread
and butter to those dependent on me."

He paused, and Winifred said nothing but looked at him with strong
sympathy. He went on:

"It will not excuse me, I suppose, but whose is the greater sin? Is it
mine, or theirs who hired me? I thought of it professionally. If one
honest man had met me with the question, 'Can you lead that part of our
worship to God in spirit and in truth?' I should have known that I
could not, and said so. Then I should have turned my attention to
secular paths where secular men belong. But there's the rub! Not one
of them thought of it, I suppose. What a farce it is! The minister
yesterday talked of incense rising to God. It doesn't get beyond their
nostrils, I think. You know that man--what's his name?--he's a stock
broker, who sits down the right aisle? Well, you know there was a talk
once of dismissing the quartette, and retaining only the chorus (under
my direction) to reduce expenses. That man declared if the quartette
were dismissed he would leave the church. He is not a member anyway, I
think, but he pays! There is worship for you! I tell you, the people
glut their own souls with good music, and go home thinking they have
worshiped God. Oh, I wish there were reality in the world!"

Mr. Mercer threw his head back and ran his fingers nervously through
his wavy locks. His eyes were burning and there was a bright red spot
on either cheek.

Winifred spoke out impulsively:

"Oh, Mr. Mercer, there is reality! I know there is somewhere, and I