other than those that had been carefully explored and marked as safe; and to her consciousness she pleaded guilty of the charge.

Before her, life stretched barren and desolate, and not even in her dreams could she find a light to guide her feet. She longed for peace, and believed the fault all hers that she had not found it; she lacked wisdom, and believed the power to attain it had been denied her.

And as she stood alone in the sweet spring night, her thoughts and emotions became complex, conflicting and tumultuous. Strange, alien thoughts flashed before her vision, and, like things alive, seemed to glow and quiver in the darkness. She covered her face with her hands. "God has hidden His face from me," she whispered, "I have never known Him."

Now before her in a fleeting vision she saw her Savior, but it was not the man Jesus as she had thought of him, with his crown of thorns and his nail-pierced hands beckoning to her, asking for her adoration and worship; but in this vision he came as a friend and teacher, one who has solved and proven all of life's problems, and stood ready to help her with all that troubled and perplexed her. He offered her not redemption through his death, but life through the understanding of God's love.

But so foreign was this vision of a Christ, to her orthodox conception of Him, that for a moment she was overwhelmed by it; then instantly she felt her strange thoughts to be intruders, vagaries of her brain, and her first impulse was to refuse them audience, to resist and destroy them. She had no intention of countenancing for a moment a thought that cast any shade of disapprobation on the work in which she and her husband were united, or which differed in any manner from the way in which they were working.

She turned and walked back and forth through the room. "This unrest always attacks me when I am tired and undone," she thought. "These troublesome thoughts will leave me when I am rested and myself again."

She went back to the window and breathed deep of the sweet night air. Something deeper than her consciousness, more potent than her faith, greater than her understanding, was striving for recognition within her. The heart of all things, the force and strength of the universe, the science of Life itself was unfolding before her; but she steeled her heart against it. Her mind had not yet burst its chrysalis; she was still a child of earth.

When Mrs. Thorpe found herself beset by the strife and unrest of her inner life, she turned instinctively to a strong, true friend that she had found. This was a Mrs. Mayhew, the wife of one of the deacons of the church. She was a woman older than Mrs. Thorpe and possessed of rare tact, and the sympathy that soothes and comforts without conscious effort.

This woman's life was a busy one; heart and hands were full. She had wealth at her disposal, and social duties made their demands upon her; church work appealed to her, and her family of children knew her as their counselor and best friend. If there were past chapters in this woman's life that caused her to be especially tender and sympathetic toward the young wife of her pastor, and yet gave her the wisdom to know that the trouble lay too deep for mortal hand to touch, she made no sign and spoke no word, but in the silence her heart spoke to the troubled heart of her friend. And Mrs. Thorpe never named her trouble, or by the slightest word disclosed the doubts that came to her. Whatever help she received she imbibed from her friend's personality and gleaned from her quiet, well-balanced life.

Unable to rid herself of her troubled thoughts, the next day Mrs. Thorpe dropped in upon this friend. And during the call she discussed the church choir with Mrs. Mayhew's niece, Geraldine, who was the church organist.

"I think we should have some new music," Mrs. Thorpe said. "Since Max Morrison has consented to sing in the choir, with his strong tenor voice we can undertake some things which we could not before. I am glad that Max has promised to help us. So much depends on the choir. People will go where they can hear good music."

Geraldine made some suggestions regarding the new music, and Mrs. Mayhew readily agreed with Mrs. Thorpe that the choir has much to do with the success of the modern church.

At the service the next Sunday morning Mr. Thorpe gave a strong, scholarly address. But it was not the sermon, neither was it the strong tenor, nor the new music that caught Mrs. Thorpe's attention. She was coming to regard the service hour on Sunday as the hardest time of the week. For strive, struggle and pray as she would, she could not always bring herself into a proper frame of mind; could not keep the spirit of worship.

Sometimes a thought from her husband's sermon would flash out before her, confront her and torment her. At this stage of her life the thought, "I do not believe," never confronted her boldly and openly; but always there was the subtle insinuation, "Do you believe?" Sometimes her soul's agony was caused by the attitude of the people, lavishly dressed, ostentatiously worshipful. Then instead of worship in her own heart she would be possessed by scathing scorn. But this morning it was the songs that caused her undoing. Her husband took his place in the pulpit and the choir sang the opening hymn; and a line, a thought from the song attacked Mrs. Thorpe:

"Lord Jesus, look down from thy throne in the skies,

And help me to make a complete sacrifice."

 

Mrs. Thorpe felt herself without rudder or sail, her bark at the mercy of a stormy sea. Her mind was chaotic:

"The Lord Jesus Christ then was sitting comfortably, contentedly upon His throne in the skies! What wonder that His people are straying in many forbidden paths? What wonder that they are wandering, scattered and lost? Are they not as sheep without a shepherd? If He is the Savior of men, why is He not among His people--oh, his people who so sorely need Him?"

The thought brought the tears to her eyes; but the next thought choked them abruptly:

"If He had taken Himself to His shining throne in Heaven, what right had she or this concourse of people to conjure Him to come down?"

Instead of the submissive attitude of one desiring to make a "complete sacrifice," a wild, unreasoning rebellion arose within her; but a stoical calm covered every emotion. But she was not yet to be let off the rack; the worst was to follow. The sermon was devoted to the work and needs of missions, and the pastor made a strong appeal for funds with which to carry on the Master's work. After the sermon the first lines of song rang out with a pleasing melody:

"I have read of a beautiful City,

Far away in the Kingdom of God:

I have read how its walls are of jasper,

How its streets are all golden and broad."

 

Mrs. Thorpe's sense of humor, which sometimes leaped suddenly into life and overmastered all her troubled thoughts and melancholy broodings, now came near finishing the tragedy of the service hour. Those "Streets all