As for the preacher, he felt the girl's thoughtfulness very deeply. It seemed that she was the only one of the thousands who had stood before him that had thought for his needs. Her tact and the graceful way in which she displayed it, even down to her readiness to sit with him lest he should feel that she was remaining hungry, pleased him; and her chat, abounding with shrewdness, was gracefully frank. He felt refreshed beyond measure by her freshness, and he rose to walk to the house where he was a guest, feeling that it was, indeed, good for him to have changed the loneliness of his stroll for the companionship which she offered him. CHAPTER IX The question had often been discussed by him to the furthest point possible (as he thought) for its consideration to be extended; and how was it that he found himself debating it at this time in its crudest form? He had long ago settled it to his own satisfaction, that his life was to be a lonely one through the world. Not for him were to be the pleasant cares of home or wife or child. Not for him was the tenderness of woman--not for him the babble of the little lips, every quiver of which is a caress. His work was sufficient for him, he had often said, and the contemplation of the possibility of anything on earth coming between him and his labours, filled him with alarm. He felt that if he were to cease to be absorbed in his work, he should be unfaithful to his trust. The only one that was truly faithful was the one who was ready to give up all to follow in the footsteps of the Master. But being human and full of human sympathy, he had often felt a moment's envy entering the house of one of his friends who was married and become the father of children. The hundred little occurrences incidental to a household, where there was a nursery and a schoolroom, were marked by him--the clambering of little chubby legs up to the father's knee--the interpretation of the latest phrase that fell from baby lips--the charm of golden silk curls around an innocent child's face--all these and a score of other delights associated with the household had appealed to him, giving him an hour's longing at the time, and a tender recollection at intervals in after years. “Not for me--not for me,” he had said. So jealous was he of his work that, as has been noted, the possibility of his becoming absorbed--even partially--by anything that was not directly pertaining to his work, was a dread to him. He set himself the task of crushing down within him every aspiration that might tend to interfere with the carrying out of the labour of his life, and he believed that, by stern and strict endeavour, he had succeeded in doing so. Then why should he now find himself considering the question which he believed he had settled forever? Why should he now begin to see that the assurance that it was not good for a man to be alone was based upon a knowledge of men and was wise?