The next train for Afton did not leave the city until four o'clock, so Ray wandered on down the streets, with little thought as to just where he was going. A peace that had long been absent from his heart had returned; his conscience, which had so long been at variance with his action, had now come into perfect accord. He was happier than he had at any time been since the night of the fire. Humbled by his experience, yet so sweetly conscious was he of the Master's nearness and the Master's forgiveness, that he could not but repeat the words of one of God's children, written long before; words that thousands of humbled and penitent hearts have found so exactly suited, each to his own individual case: "Have mercy upon me, O Lord, according to thy loving kindness;... Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation, and uphold me with thy free spirit. Then will I teach transgressors thy ways; and sinners shall be converted unto thee." So busy was Ray with his own thoughts, that he did not notice that he had wandered beyond the limits of the city proper, and was now in one of its growing suburbs. He was aroused from his pre-occupied condition by suddenly finding himself face to face with a number of large and magnificent buildings, surrounded by extensive lawns, upon which were long rows of tall and stately elms. An old white-haired gentleman stood by the fence that shut off the lawn from the street, and Ray, stopping, asked him what buildings they were. The old man turned slowly around and looked curiously at the lad. "They are the university buildings," he slowly replied; "and, my lad, sixty years ago, when I was scarcely older than you, I entered them as a student. There have been great changes since then. The college has prospered. New buildings have been erected and the campus has been beautified--but, ah! those were delightful days! I hope, my lad, you love to study, and may one day graduate from this honored institution of learning." "I cannot tell you, sir," replied Ray, "how I hope for that very thing myself; but God alone knows whether I shall be able to do it." "May he lead you on to a full realization of your hopes," responded the old gentleman, solemnly. "Here is my card, and if I can ever be of any service to you, let me know. May I ask your name in return?" "Ray Branford," replied the lad looking at the card laid in his own hand. It was a plain card, with simply the name, Charles T. Swinburne, upon it. But Ray knew who he was, and looked almost reverently up into his face. The name of that old gentleman was known in every household of that State, in many a household throughout the land. As scholar, as philanthropist, as a worker in every true and holy cause, was he known; his voice had ever been raised, his purse had ever been open, on behalf of the lowly and oppressed. Even now, in his ripe old age, it was no light influence for good he was still wielding.