ne to
bring these people into the living union of the Church of Christ.

His blood set toward his heart with tremulous action.

His eyes glowed with zeal like that of the prophets of the Middle Ages.
He saw the people united once more in this desecrated hall. He heard the
bells ringing, the sound of song, the voices of love and fellowship
filling the anterooms where hate had scrawled hideous blasphemy against
woman and against God.

As he sat there Herman came in, his keen eyes seeking out every stain
and evidence of vandalism.

"Cheerful prospect, isn't it?"

Wallace looked up with the blaze of his resolution still in his eyes.
His pale face was sweet and solemn.

"Oh, how these people need Christ!"

Herman turned away. "They need killing--about two dozen of 'em. I'd like
to have the job of indicating which ones. I wouldn't miss the old man,
you bet!" he added, with cordial resentment.

Wallace was helpless in the face of such reckless thought, and so sat
silently watching the handsome young fellow as he walked about.

"Well, now, Stacey, I guess you'll need to move. I had another session
with the old man, but he won't give in, so I'm off for Chicago. Mother's
brother, George Chapman, who lives about as near the schoolhouse on the
other side, will take you in. I guess we'd better go right down now and
see about it. I've said good-by to the old man--for good this time; we
didn't shake hands, either," he said, as they started down the road
together. He was very stern and hard. Something of the father was hidden
under his laughing exterior.

Stacey regretted deeply the necessity which drove him out of Allen's
house. Mrs. Allen and Mattie had appealed to him very strongly. For
years he had lived far from young women, and there was a magical power
in the intimate home actions of this young girl. Her bare head, with
simple arrangement of hair, someway seemed the most beautiful thing he
had ever seen.

He thought of her that night, as he sat at the table with Chapman and
his aged mother. They lived alone, and their lives were curiously
silent. Once in a while a low-voiced question, and that was all. George
read the _Popular Science, Harper's Monthly Magazine_, and the _Open
Court_, and brooded over them with slow intellectual movement. It was
wonderful the amount of information he secreted from these periodicals.
He was better informed than many college graduates. He had little
curiosity about the young stranger