etter out on the couch and his face grew more and
more thoughtful as he gazed into the face of his wife, and his mind went
over the ground of his church experience. If, only, he was, perhaps,
thinking, if only the good God had not given him so sensitive and
fine-tempered a spirit of conscientiousness. He almost envied men of
coarse, blunt feelings, of common ideals of duty and service.

His wife watched him anxiously. She knew it was a crisis with him. At
last he said:--

"Well, Sarah, I don't know but you're right. The spirit is willing, but
the flesh is weak. The professorship would be free from the incessant
worry and anxiety of a parish, and then I might be just as useful in the
Seminary as I am here--who knows?"

"Who knows, indeed!" exclaimed Sarah, joyfully; at the same time she was
almost crying. She picked up the letter and called Philip's attention to
the clause which granted him a year abroad in case he accepted. "Think
of that, Philip! Your dream of foreign travel can come true now."

"That is," Philip looked out of the window over the dingy roof of a shed
near by to the gloomy tenements, "that is, supposing I decide to
accept."

"Supposing! But you almost same as said----Oh, Philip, say you will! Be
reasonable! This is the opportunity of a lifetime!"

"That's true," replied Philip.

"You may not have another such chance as this as long as you live. You
are young now and with every prospect of success in work of this kind.
It is new work, of the kind you like. You will have leisure and means to
carry on important experiments, and influence for life young men
entering the ministry. Surely, Philip, there is as great opportunity for
usefulness and sacrifice there as anywhere. It must be that the will of
God is in this. It comes without any seeking on your part."

"Yes, indeed!" Philip spoke with the only touch of pride he ever
exhibited. It was pride in the knowledge that he was absolutely free
from self-glory or self-seeking.

"Then say you will accept. Say you will, Philip!"

The appeal, coming from the person dearest to him in all the world,
moved Philip profoundly. He took the letter from her hand, read it over
carefully, and again laid it down on the couch. Then he said:--

"Sarah, I must pray over it. I need a little time. You will have
reason----" Philip paused, as his habit sometimes was, and at that
moment the bell rang and Mrs. Strong went downstairs. As she went along
she felt almost per