pproach
her husband. He was like a giant in the power of his enemies, and his
struggles were terrible. But she knew well that he must fight and
conquer alone. Hour after hour his ceaseless tramp, tramp, tramp went
on; and she could hear him breathing inwardly like one who has
business of life and death in hand.

Toward dawn she lost hold of herself and fell asleep. When she awoke
it was broad daylight, and all was still in the miserable house.
Softly she opened the door and looked into the living-room. John was
on his knees; she heard his voice--a far-off, awful voice--the voice
of the soul and not of the body. So she went back, and with bowed
head sat down on the edge of her bed and waited. Very cold was the
winter morning, but she feared to make a movement. She knew it was
long past the breakfast hour; she heard footsteps passing, the shouts
of the fishers, the cries of the sea-birds; she believed it to be at
least ten o'clock.

But she sat breathlessly still. John was wrestling as Jacob wrestled;
a movement, a whisper might delay the victory or the blessing. She
almost held her breath as the muttered pleading grew more and more
rapid, more and more urgent. Then there was a dead silence, a pause, a
long deep sigh, a slow movement--and John opened the door and said
softly, "Joan." There was the light of victory on his face; the cold
strong light of a lifted sword. Then he sat down by her side; but what
he told her and how she comforted him belong to those sacred, secret
things which it is a sacrilege against love to speak of.

They went together to the cold hearth, and kindled the fire, and made
the meal both urgently needed, and, as they ate it, John spoke of the
duty before him. He had sworn at Jacob Trenager and knocked him down;
he had let loose all the devils within him; he had failed in the hour
of his trial, and he must resign his offices of class leader and local
preacher.

It was a bitter personal humiliation. How his enemies would rejoice!
Where he had been first, he must be last. After he had eaten, he took
the plan out of the Bible and looked at it. As he already knew, he was
appointed to preach at St. Clair the following evening. He had
prepared his sermon on those three foggy days that began the week. He
then thought he had never been so ready for a preaching, and he had
the desire of a natural orator for his occasion. But how could he
preach to others when he had failed himself? The flight of his
d