noticed this difference. And as for Toyner, the shame and misery of
failure so filled his horizon that he could not see the favourable
contrast--shame and misery, but never despair; that one word had gone
out of his life.

One day a visitor came hurrying down the street to Toyner's home. The
stranger had the face of a saint, and the hasty feet of those who are
conscious that they bear tidings of great joy. It was Toyner's friend,
the preacher. Bart had often written to him, and he to his convert. Of
late the letters had been fraught with pain to both, but this was the
first time that the preacher had found himself able to come a long
journey since he had heard of Toyner's fall. He came, his heart big with
the prayer of faith that what he had done once he might be permitted to
do again--lead this man once more into the humble path of a
time-honoured creed and certain self-conquest. To the preacher the two
were one and indivisible.

When this life is passed away, shall we see that our prayers for others
have been answered most lavishly by the very contradiction of what we
have desired?

The visit was well timed. Bart Toyner's father lay dying; and in spite
of that, or rather in consequence of nights of watching and the
necessary handling of stimulants, Bart sat in his own room, only just
returned to soberness after a drunken night. With face buried in his
hands, and a heart that was breaking with sorrow, Bart was sitting
alone; and then the preacher came in.

The preacher sat beside him, and put his arm around him. The preacher
was a man whose embrace no man could shrink from, for the physical part