Ah! There was an offer, why not close with it?

He dropped his head on the open book with the old words of
self-surrender:

"Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do?"

A moment later Pat McCluny opened the door, cautiously, quietly; then,
with a nod to Tennelly back of him, he entered with confidence.

Courtland rose. His face was white, but there was a light of something
in his eyes they did not understand.

They went over to him as if he had been a child who had been lost and
was found on some perilous height and needing to be coaxed gently away
from it.

"Oh, so you're here, Court," said Tennelly, slapping his shoulder with
gentle roughness, "Great little old room, isn't it? The fellows' idea
to keep flowers here. Kind of a continual memorial."

"Great fellow, that Steve!" said Pat, hoarsely. He could not yet speak
lightly of the hero-martyr whom he had helped to send to his fiery
grave.

But Courtland stood calmly, almost as if he had not heard them. "Pat,
Nelly," he said, turning from one to the other gravely, "I want to tell
you fellows that I have met Steve's Christ and after this I stand for
Him!"