This public penance was a very little thing, like the dipping in Jordan.
It did not seem little to Toyner. He was thoroughly awake now, roused
for the hour to the power of seeking God with all his mind, all his
thought, all his soul. The high tide of life in him made the ordeal
terrible; he tottered forward and knelt where, in front of the rostrum,
sweet hay had been strewn upon the ground. A hundred penitents were
kneeling upon this carpet.

There was now no more loud talking or singing. Silence was allowed to
spread her wings within the woodland temple. Toyner, kneeling, felt the
influence of other human spirits deeply vivified in the intensity of
prayer. He heard whispered cries and the sound of tears, the prayer of
the publican, the tears of the Magdalene, and now and then there came a
glad thanksgiving of overflowing joy. Toyner tried to repeat what he
heard, hoping thereby to give some expression to the need within him;
but all that he could think of was the craving for strong drink that he
knew would return and that he knew he could not resist.

He heard light footsteps, and felt a strong arm embracing his own
trembling frame. The preacher had come to kneel where he knelt, and to
pray, not for him, but with him.

"I cannot," said Bart Toyner, "I can't, I can't."

"Why not?" whispered the preacher.

"Because I know I shall take to drink again."

"Which do you love best, God or the drink?" asked the preacher. "If you
love the drink best, you ought not to be here; if you love God best,