The Army had sung the hymn all through, and now they were kneeling in prayer; a thin-voiced girl led the petitions, while the others, frequently interjected exclamations of thanksgiving. Arthur did not hear a word of it, but into his troubled heart there came peace and the strength of God, which alone is able to make a man swear to his own hurt. He walked rapidly back to the store he had left and asked to see Mr. Smeaton. Mr. Smeaton had his hat and coat on, about to leave the store, but he came back, and, taking Arthur into his office, offered him a chair. Arthur remained standing, and, without speaking, gave the young man a searching glance. What he saw was a muscular young fellow, of about his own age, with clear gray eyes and curling brown hair. He was faultlessly dressed, and had an unmistakably straightforward expression and countenance. "What can I do for you?" the young merchant asked. Without a word Arthur took from his pocket Thursa's telegram. His hand trembled, and he had a queer, dizzy feeling as he did it, but he put it safely in the other man's hand. Away across the sea, in the Rectory of St. Agnes, a gray-haired father and mother were praying for their boy so far away, and their prayer for him that day was not that he might have wealth, or ease, or fame, or the praise of men, nor that he might always gain his heart's desire--not that at all; they asked for him a greater gift still--that he might always walk in honour's ways. Jack Smeaton's face was illumined with joy as he read Thursa's telegram. "Did she send me this? Where is she? I want to see her--who are you?" he asked, all in one breath. Something in Arthur's face told him who he was. "You are Arthur," he said gently. Arthur nodded. The two young men stood looking at each other, but for a full minute neither spoke. "I have only one question to ask you, Mr. Smeaton," Arthur said at last. "Do you love her?" "I do," the other man replied, "as God hears me." And Arthur, looking into his clear gray eyes, believed him, and his last hope vanished. "I feel like a miserable sneak in your presence," Jack Smeaton said humbly. "Upon my word, that enchanting little beauty turned my brain. Isn't she the most bewitching little girl in all the world?" "I have always thought so," Arthur said quietly. "I have behaved badly to you, Mr.----" "Wemyss," Arthur said. "Mr. Wemyss, and I humbly apologize." "It is not necessary," Arthur said, with an effort. "Her happiness is the only thing to be considered. She was only a child when she gave me her promise, only seventeen, and I can see now that she would not be happy with me." "Come with me now, Mr. Wemyss. I want you to meet my people. They will be glad to have you stay for dinner." "Thank you," Arthur said, trying hard to speak naturally. "I would rather not."