to “the Power not ourselves which makes for righteousness,” to “the one Consensus of the whole,” to “the Eternal Verity,” but it was long since Elsworth had said “Our Father;” he felt that in doing so he had reopened that long closed “window towards the Infinite,” and had once more let in the light of the Divine and supernatural wisdom without which he had been groping along. He found a clean, but mean lodging in a little eating-house down by the river, and went to bed. Surely a voice out of heaven had called him that night. Not clearer was Paul’s arrest—not plainer Loyola’s, “Hitherto, but no farther”—than this to him to-night. So, ever, when there is a work for a man that he must do, that he is sealed and set apart for, when the full time comes he shall hear the call; if not in the still small voice and the whispering wind, then in the fire and thunders of Sinai. Elsworth felt that night, as he lay restlessly tossing on the rough bed, that he had gone about his whole work at the hospital the wrong way. Thus had not Paracelsus done! How he cried at the outset of his career: “I can abjure so well the idle arts These pedants strive to learn and teach; black arts, Great works, the secret and sublime, forsooth— Let others prize; too intimate a tie Connects me with our God! A sullen fiend To do my bidding, fallen and hateful sprites To help me—what are these, at best, beside God helping, God directing everwhere, So that the earth shall yield her secrets up, And every object there be charged to strike, Teach, gratify, her master God appoints?”