Hubert's heart withdrew within him, and he had no further inclination to speak to any of his new-found hope. A bitter theory was forming itself in his mind. This company was no different from any other in the world. Were they not all as he thought them in the days of his scepticism? If they knew Him whom he had come to see as the supremest Object of devotion in all the universe, could they forbear to speak of Him when they met together? Would they not be like flaming brands, igniting one another in their fervent zeal? He was not acquainted with the book of Malachi, and had perhaps never read the words: "Then they that feared the Lord spake often one to another: and the Lord hearkened and heard it, and a book of remembrance was written before him for them that feared the Lord and that thought upon His name." Had he known the words they would have seemed a satire in this company. "They do not know Him," he thought passionately, "and I--am I under a delusion? Is it all a farce?" The suggestion was intense pain, and he put it from him. No, that One whom he had seen in his laboratory, the Man of the cross and of the glory, was no delusion. To admit Him to be such would be blackest midnight. He held on to his revelation with an iron clasp, but he longed to escape from an atmosphere that now stifled him. He made his way to his mother and Winifred. "Shall I take you to the refreshment room?" he asked in a cold, strained voice. Winifred looked at him anxiously, with eyes almost as troubled as his own. "Yes," she said in an undertone, "and let us get away as soon as possible." Mrs. Gray consented genially to be escorted to the room, elaborately decorated, where charmingly-gowned young women dispensed elegant refreshments. Several gentlemen, among whom Hubert recognized elders of the church, with their wives and other ladies, passed gay bandinage one to another as they sipped cooling ices. Hubert took nothing, but stood, silent and stern, while his mother, unconscious of the tempest in his breast, leisurely and daintily enjoyed her refreshment. "Where are the poor people?" Hubert asked Winifred in something of his old sarcastic tone, as they left the room. "I am afraid they are not here," said she, gently. Then she glanced around. "Yes, there are some, I see. There is Madge Nichol, that young woman in the stylish blue dress. She has done sewing for me, and seemed to need the money very much. But see how she is dressed! It must be much beyond her means." Then a womanly intuition smote her, and she looked down at her own costly dress. "I see how it is, Hubert," she said. "I think we are to blame. No girl would like to meet us in this way unless she were well dressed." "I should advise them to stay away," said Hubert. "They would lose nothing valuable." "That is what I shall do, I think," said Winifred with a sigh. "Do let us get away as soon as mother is ready."