These were his daily questionings and soulsearching, and they had been ever present with him since he had put his hand to the plough. He was ever apt to accuse himself of vainglory--of a lack of that spirit of humility which he felt should enter into every act--every thought of his life. He thought of himself as the instrument through which his Master spake to His children. Should the harp vaunt itself when a hand sweeps over its strings, making such music as forces those who hear to be joyful or sad? Should the trumpet take credit to itself because through its tubes is blown the blast that sends an army headlong to the charge? After his first preaching in the valley of the Lana, hundreds of those who heard him had come to him making a profession of the Faith that he preached. He asked himself now if it was not possible that he had been too eager to accept their assurance. He had had his experiences of the resultat the emotions of his listeners being so stirred by his preaching that they had come to him with the same glad story; but only to become lukewarm after a space, and after another space to lapse into their former carelessness. The parable of the Sower was ever in his mind. The quick upspring-ing of the seed was a sign that it had fallen where there was no depth of earth. And this sowing was more hopeless than that on stony ground--than that among thorns. He feared that he had been too hasty. He was a careless husbandman who had been too ready to assume that a plentiful harvest was at hand, because he had sown where there was no depth of earth. He should have waited and watched and noted every sign of spiritual growth before leaving the field of his labours. These were some of his self-reproaches which occupied all his thoughts while making his return journey to Porthawn, thus causing all thought of Nelly Polwhele to be excluded from his mind. He had caught a glimpse of the Lana winding its way through the valley before he had a thought of her, and then it was with some bitterness that he reflected that, all unknown to himself, he had shortened his stay in this region because he had had an instinct that a danger would threaten him if he were to remain. Instinct? Now he was dealing with a force that was wholly animal--wholly of the flesh, and the flesh, he knew, was waging perpetual war with the things that appertained to the spirit. He urged his horse onward. Whatever danger might threaten himself by his returning to this region, he would not shrink from it; what was such a danger compared with that threatening the edifice of Faith which he had hoped had been built up in the midst of the simple people of the land?