have been called upon to make would have been hallowed by the consciousness that they had performed their duty. It was not alone the happiness of the mortal life that had to be considered. If the ministrations of God's ministers on earth were not a mockery and a snare, it was the immortal life that was equally at stake. The soul's reward sprang from the body's suffering. And still the pitiless snow fell, and the wind howled around him, and through the white whirlwind he beheld the light of heaven and the stars shining upon him. How should he act? He imagined himself steering the vessel through an ocean of sad waters. On the right lay a haven of rest, on the left lay a dark and desolate shore. Which way should he turn the wheel? His pity for her had drawn from him during their last interview the exclamation, "God help you!" and she had asked hopelessly, "Will he?" He had turned from her then; he had no answer to make. There is, he said to himself now, no divine mediation in human affairs; the divine hand is not stretched forth to give food to the hungry. In so grave an issue as the starvation of a human being dependence upon divine aid will not avail. Admitting this, he felt it to be almost a heresy, but at the same time he knew that it was true. There were but few people in the white streets, and of those few a large proportion tinged his musings with a deeper melancholy. These were ragged, shivering children, and women recklessly or despondently gashing the white carpet, so pure and innocent and fair in its sentimental aspect, so hard and bitter and cruel in its material. By a devious process of reasoning he drew a parallel between it and the problem he was engaged in solving. It was poetic, and it freezed the marrow; it had a soul and a body, one a sweet and smiling spirit, the other a harsh and frowning reality. The heart of a poet without boots would have sunk within him as he trod the snow-clad streets. Dr. Spenlove's meditations were arrested by a sudden tumult. A number of people approached him gesticulating and talking eagerly and excitedly, the cause of their excitement being a couple of policemen who bore between them the wet, limp body of a motionless woman. He was drawn magnetically toward the crowd, and was immediately recognized. "Here's Dr. Spenlove," they cried. "He knows her." Yes, he knew her the moment his eyes fell upon her, the people having made way for him. The body borne by the policemen was that of a young girl scarcely out of her teens, an unfortunate who had walked the streets for two or three years past. "You had better come with us, doctor," said one of the policemen, to both of whom he was known. "We have just picked her out of the water." A middle-aged woman pushed herself close to Dr. Spenlove. "She said she'd do it a month ago," said this woman, "if luck didn't turn."