you--to enter into any question with you. I have no right to do so."

"You have every right, Phyllis. If I should cause offence to the least
of the little ones of the flock with which I have been intrusted, it
would be better that a millstone were hanged round my neck and that I
were cast into the sea. You have a right to ask and it is laid on me to
answer."

"Then I decline to avail myself of the privilege; I will ask you
nothing, except to say good-by."

"I will not say it, Phyllis, and I will not hear you say it. Three
months ago you told me that you loved me."

"And I fancied that I did, but now----"

"Ah! you think that you have the power to cease loving at a moment's
notice? You will find out your mistake, my child. In love there are no
good-bys. I take your hand now, but not to say good-by; I feel that
you are still mine--that you will be mine more than ever when you
think--think--and pray."

"Ah! You ask me to pray?"

"Pray--pray for me, child. I need the prayers of such as you, for I feel
that my hour of deepest trial is drawing nigh. Do you fancy that I am
the man to take back anything that I have written? Look at me, Phyllis;
I tell you here that I will stand by everything that I have written.
Whatever comes of it, the book remains. Even if I lose all that I have
worked for,--even if I lose you,--I will still say 'the book remains.' I