There was a crowd around the platform. Likely people had come up to speak to him. His words rang over again in her heart as she waited, her eyes lighted with a great joy. At last the crowd thinned and she managed to work her way through and get to the front, but as she did so she saw several men going out a door back of the platform, and when she arrived there was but one man left up there, seemingly a janitor, picking up the books. Her heart sank. “Oh, can you tell me where the speakers have gone? I must see one of them a minute, that last man, Mr. Sherwood!” she cried eagerly. “Him? Oh, he went while they was singin’, lady, hed to ketch a train. I showed him the way to the station. Good, wa’n’t he? Beats all what the Lord does when He gets a chance at a soul--” But Joyce had gone, down the aisle with swift steps, out into the street where it was still raining briskly, and the water pouring along the gutter in deep angry tides. She paid no heed. She fled along on winged feet, across the water, down another block; wet and breathless, she arrived at last at the station. She did not glance at the clock to see if she had missed her train; she hurried out to the gates, and scanned every entrance to a train, but the man was just closing the gate and slipping down the sign for the New York express, which was moving away in the distance, and there was no other train sign up except her own, the last one out to Silverton that night. She glanced at the clock. There were three minutes before it left. She cast a despairing glance around. He was probably gone on that train to New York and she had missed her chance of telling him how glad she was. She must go home of course. She would be in a terrible predicament if she missed that train, and had to stay in the station all night, for she had no money for lodging and would not have known where to go if she had. And there were her examination papers. The guard had his hand on the gate and his eye on the clock. She hurried through the gates and onto the train, sinking into a seat just as the train began to move, and feeling a rush of bitter disappointment so deep she could hardly restrain the tears. Yet beneath it all, as she put her head down on her hand and tried to control her feelings, there was a deep gladness. Her prayers had been answered. Darcy had found the way home. The horror of that night in the cemetery was all cleared away. She had her friend once more, whether he ever knew it or not. Afterwards, while the wheels were turning in a drowsy tune, and the sleepy passengers, with closed eyes, were trying to snatch a bit of rest on the way, her heart woke up and began to tell over to her every word that he had spoken, every precious look that showed his heart was changed, every intonation of the voice she had known so long. And to think the Lord had used her to make him listen to God’s voice! Oh, it was too dear, too wonderful!