iendship. Last
night when I came back to my rooms I found a rose blooming upon the
pages of a book. It seemed to tell me that I had not lost your
friendship; and you have given me this hour. This is all I have a
right to ask of your generosity."

She moved the jar of lilies aside, so that there might be nothing
between them. "If I am your friend, I must help you," she said, "or
what would my friendship be worth?"

"There is no help," he said, hurriedly, "not in the sense that I think
you mean it. My past has made my future. I cannot throw myself into
the fight again. I know that I have been called all sorts of a coward
for not facing life. But I could face armies, if it were anything
tangible. I could do battle with a sword or a gun or my fists, if
there were a visible adversary. But whispers--you can't kill them; and
at last they--kill you."

"I don't want you to fight," she said, and now behind the whiteness of
her skin there was a radiance. "I don't want you to fight. I want you
to deliver your message."

"What message?"

"The message that every man who stands in the pulpit must have for the
world, else he has no right to stand there."

"You think then that I had no message?"

"I think," and now her hand went out to him across the table, as if she
would soften the words, "I think that if you had felt yourself called
to do that one thing, that nothing would have swayed you from it--there
are people not in the churches, who never go to church, who want what
you have to give--there are the highways and hedges. Oh, surely, not
all of the people worth preaching to are the ones in the pews."

She flung the challenge at him directly.

And he flung it back to her, "If I had had such a woman as you in my
life----"

"Oh, don't, _don't_." The radiance died. "What has any woman to do
with it? It is you--yourself, who must stand the test."

After the ringing words there was dead silence. Roger sat leaning
forward, his eyes not upon her, but upon the fire. In his white face
there was no hint of weakness; there was, rather, pride, obstinacy, the
ruggedness of inflexible purpose.

"I am afraid," he said at last, "that I have not stood the test."

Her clear eyes met his squarely. "Then meet it now."

For a moment he blazed. "I know now what you think of me, that I am a
man who has shirked."

"You know I do not think that."

He surrendered. "I do know it. And I need your help."

Shaken by t