apel occasionally she realized, as never before, how much in the
air his ceremonies and his creed were. There was nothing there for her
except his memory. And she knew when she stepped in there, for her cool,
reasoning mind was honest, that it was the thought of him that drew her
to the place, and that going there was a sentimental indulgence. What
she would have said was that she admired, loved Father Damon on account
of his love for humanity. It was a common saying of all the professional
women in her set, and of the working-girls, that they loved Father
Damon. It is a comfort to women to be able to give their affection
freely where conventionalities and circumstances make the return of it
in degree unlikely.

At the close of a debilitating day Dr. Leigh found herself in the
neighborhood of the mission chapel. She was tired and needed to rest
somewhere. She knew that Father Damon had returned, but she had not seen
him, and a double motive drew her steps. The attendance was larger
than it had been recently, and she found a stool in a dark corner, and
listened, with a weary sort of consciousness of the prayers and the
singing, but not without a deeper feeling of peace in the tones of a
voice every inflection of which she knew so well. It seemed to her that
the reading cost him an effort, and there was a note of pathos in
the voice that thrilled her. Presently he advanced towards the altar
rail--he was accustomed to do this with his little flock--and placing
one hand on the lectern, began to speak.

At first, and this was not usual, he spoke about himself in a strain
of sincere humility, taking blame upon himself for his inability to do
effectively the great service his Master had set him to do. He meant
to have given himself more entirely to the dear people among whom he
labored; he hoped to show himself more worthy of the trust they had
given him; he was grateful for the success of his mission, but no one
knew so well as he how far short it came of being what he ought to have
made it. He knew indeed how weak he was, and he asked the aid of their
sympathy and encouragement. It seemed to be with difficulty that he said
this, and to Ruth's sympathetic ear there was an evidence of physical
exhaustion in his tone. There was in it, also, for her, a confession of
failure, the cry of the preacher, in sorrow and entreaty, that says, "I
have called so long, and ye would not listen."

As he went on, still with an effort and fee