“I _am_ bothered,” admitted the Professor, stopping at the foot of the stairs, “about one of my boys. He is rather a favorite with me. There isn’t a finer intellect in the senior class.” “But how about his Christianity, Father?” asked the girl mischievously. “His _Christianity_ is all right, so far as I know,” admitted the Professor slowly. “It is his theology that is the hitch. He isn’t sound. He has received no call.” “Do I know him?” asked Helen in a different tone. The Professor of Theology turned, and held his student lamp at arm’s length above his daughter’s face, which he scanned in silence before he said:-- “I am not prepared to answer that question, Helen. Whether you know him I can’t say; I really cannot say whether you know him or not. I’m not sure whether I do, myself. But I am much annoyed about the matter. It is a misfortune to the Seminary, and a mortification to the young man.” He kissed his daughter tenderly, and went upstairs with the weary tread of a professional man at the end of a long day’s work. Helen went to her own room and shut the door. But she did not light the candles. She sat down at her open window, in the hot, night wind. She leaned her cheek against her bare arm, from which the loose sleeve fell away. The elms were in such rich leaf that she could see the Seminary buildings only in broken outline now. But there was wind enough to lift and toss the branches, and through one of the rifts in the green wall she noticed that a light was burning in the third-story northwest corner of Galilee Hall. It was past midnight before she went to bed. As she closed her blinds, for the first time in her life, the Professor’s daughter did deliberately, and of self-acknowledged intention, stoop to take a look at the window of a student. “His light is still burning,” she thought. “What can be the matter?” Then she flushed red with a beautiful self-rebuke, and fled to her white pillow. Night deepened into perfect silence on Cesarea Hill. The last light in Galilee Hall went out. The moon rode on till morning. In the deserted green the clear-cut paths shone wide and long, and the great white cross lay as if nailed to its place, all night, between the Seminary and the Professor’s house. V. “Goshamighty, stand off there! Who in ---- are _you_?”