“Such is my task, but I do not know that it can be fulfilled by the printed word. There may be a surer way. The question I have to ask myself is, can I do the Father’s will more worthily? By prayer and fasting perhaps I may.” “But the thing is so perfect. Why gild the lily?” “It is only one of many keys, dear friend. It is not the Door itself. It is no more than a stage in a long, long pilgrimage; no more than a means to the mighty end that has been laid upon me.” Brandon, however, had set his heart upon the poem’s publication. To him it was a perfect thing. Moreover, he saw in it a vindication of its author, a noble answer to those who were conspiring to destroy him. Strangely, however, John was not to be moved from his resolve. And more strangely still, as it seemed to Brandon, intimations had come to him already of the terrible fate that was about to overtake him. “It has been communicated to me that I am about to be called to a great trial,” were the words he used. Brandon, sick at heart, had hardly the courage to seek an explanation. “You--you have been told that?” He scanned anxiously the face of the man at his side. “Yes,” was the answer. “The inner voice spoke to me last evening. I don’t know when the blow will fall, or what fate awaits me, but a sword hangs by a single hair above my head.” “And--and you are not afraid?” To Brandon this calmness was almost superhuman. “I am not afraid. The souls of the just are in the hands of God. And I ask you, my dear friend, to share my faith. You are one of two witnesses to whom I have been allowed to reveal myself. The other is an old woman who can no longer work with her hands. You have long given her a roof for her head, and I have kept a loaf in her cupboard and found her fire in the winter. But there is only the poorhouse for her when I am taken, and I think she fears it.” “Whatever happens, that shall not be her fate.” “I will not thank so good a man. But it is your due that you should know this.” “It is my great privilege. Is there any other way in which I may hope to be of use?” “At the moment, none.” John Smith laid his hand on the arm of the stricken man with a gesture of mingled pity and solicitude. “But a time is surely coming when a heavy tax will be laid upon your friendship.” “I cannot tell you how I shall welcome it.” As Brandon spoke he gazed upward to the eyes of the man who bent over him. As he met those large-pupiled orbs, a curious thrill passed through his frame. In the sudden sweep of his emotion was an odd sense of awe. “I foresee, dear friend, that you are about to be called to a hero’s task.” The soft, low voice seemed to strike through Brandon as he lay. “Whatever it may be, I accept it joyfully. In the meantime I can only pray that I may stand worthy in the day of trial.” “Of that there can be no doubt--if you will always remember that one unconverted believer may save the whole world.”