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INTO MARVELOUS LIQHT A s rapidly as possible, John Marsden was formulating his plans for resigning his charge of “The Christian Mission,” as he had fully made up his mind to leave New’ York for some foreign field, even though it meant the refusal of $2,000,- 000 for his New York work. His resig nation would be a hard task, because he u “ ——J could not discuss with his best friend, much less with the public, the real reasons for his leaving-. p, n t he knew that the spirit of God was guiding- him, and, secure in that knowledge, he was impregnable to all entreaties. At the regular meeting of the Advisory Board of ‘‘The Christian Mission,” John Marsden handed in his written resignation, then asked to be excused. But a warm triend protested. The resignation was so unexpected and so unwelcome, the hour which followed was one of the most trying of his life. Trying, in the first place, because his heart was almost breaking in making this resignation; trying in the second place because, to the brethren, the reasons given by him for his resignation, as com pared with the reasons thev gave for his remaining, were so unacceptable to them. In the midst of a most heated discussion, to the great surprise of every one present, Julian Deveaux entered the room. He did not wait to be told that it was a private meeting upon which he was intrud ing, nor to be asked to have a seat. He hurriedly walked to the side of the chairman and began: “Gentlemen, so important is my mission here, I shall not even go through with the formality of ask ing your pardon for my intrusion. I have just called at Mr. Marsden’s home. The servant did not know that he was out and requested me to go to his room. Finding the door ajar, I thought perhaps he would return in a moment, so I went in and sat down by a table on which was an open note. Some thing attracted my attention to it. I had only to look down to read it, and obtaining from it an idea of the nature of this meeting this evening, I have hastened here to plead with him publicly and with you, his closest friends, not to make any final de cision now regarding this resignation.” For thirty minutes he pleaded as he would have done for the life of an only son. He offered the $2,000,000 to the Board for the work of the Mission provided John Marsden remained in charge. When he had finished speaking, not a dry eye was in the room. It was taken for granted that the resigna tion would be withdrawn, of course, and one hy one the company dispersed, feeling overjoyed at the wonderful future in store for the Mission with such a royal endowment. But John Marsden was just as unmoved in his de termination, though he saw that it would be wise to be silent for a little lime, until God should make the way clear. He was commanded “to stand still,” for a season, “and wait on the Lord.” CHAPTER XXXIX. The morning after the Board meeting at “The Christian Mission” almost every New York paper had several columns reporting the resignation of the Rev. John Marsden, the refusal of the Board to accept his resignation. the $2,000,000 endowment offered by one of the wealthy supporters of his work, whose name was not given to the public, and giving a detailed history of the Mission and of its founder. When John saw the glaring headlines, he knew in stantly that it was Julian Deveaux who had given the matter such publicity. He abhorred sensation al notoriety, and his soul was enraeed. He saw that Julian Deveaux was determined to use every mears to make him withdraw’ his resignation, and to accept the endowment gift. He was all the more determined not to accept it, with thp restrictions accompanying it. Let the world call him a crank, a fanatic, or say that he had refused to accept “tainted money” for religious work, or whatever The Golden Age for August 30, 1906. B> LLEWELYN STEP HE N Si. else it might choose to attribute to his motives, he knew that God had guided him in his decision, and whenever he was inclined to turn with longing to ward the tree whose fruit looked good to the eye and sweet to the taste, the vision of Christ’s temp tations in the wilderness never failed to come before him. * * Christiana’s strength had returned so slowly, everything of an exciting nature had been as strict ly guarded from her by Dr. Gordon as if she had been his own daughter. She knew nothing of her husband’s temporary collapse, of John Marsden’s frequent visits to the house, or of the mental and spiritual struggles the two men were having. It was only during the past week that she had been permitted to even glance at the magazines and pa pers, and that her mail had been brought directly to her room. Now it was not thought necessary to re strict her in this respect. Hence the papers con taining the announcement regarding John Marsden was the first intimation she or Mrs. Wayland had had of his intention to leave New York for JTome foreign field. She did not make any outcry or re mark upon it even to her aunt; but meditated upon it in secret, until her heart could hide its pain no longer, but cried aloud in its confession to Mrs. Wayland, as has been recorded. But, during these weeks of quiet and of silent meditation, her soul had not been dormant, but was as the seed which rests in the soil for a season, be ing nurtured by the life giving power of God, until the overrunning fullness of that life bursts through the earth and up to greet the air—the breath of God—to kiss the sun—the light of God—and to dwell in the beautiful world—the temple of God. And as the bud develops and blooms and fruits, so her soul was expanding. Her life had been like the angel which Michael Angelo saw in every block of marble. Had it been left undeveloped on a moun tain in Tennessee, it might have been useful as a dorstep to some country home, or perhaps aspired to adorn a church tower; but out of the same block of marble, after it had been cut, and hammered and chiseled by some great sculptor, who modeled alter the figure of the angel in his soul, we see pro duced a form of ideal beauty. For a time it may have seemed that the mold into which the Divine Sculptor was placing Christiana was but a fiery furnace in which to consume her and that He was destroying her soul with the saw and hammer and chisel of his anger; when, behold, it look the furnace of suffering and the blows of sor row to release the angel from the stone. Chapter XL. When Christiana unburdened her heart to her aunt, the latter decided frankly to discuss the whole matter with John. She surmised his reason for leaving New York, and realized as no one else the trials he was undergoing and the sacrifices he was making in taking himself away from temptation. She loved him as mi own son, and had always been so in sympathy with him in his work and in his as pirations, often she had been able to cheer and com fort him above any one else. And now, in this critical hour, he must need some friend, indeed, who understood all. She did not hesitate to re quest him to call one evening when she could' anticipate seeing him without interruption. Mr. Deveaux was absent, and Christiana had not yet been allowed to leave her room. How he had longed for just such a visit with her, but he had not presumed to request it, himself. He wanted tier fully to understand the situation, so that when he was gone and when she thought it wise, some day she could explain all to Christiana that she might not judge his seeming indifference too harshly. “No, Mrs. Wayland, I cannot trust myself to tell even Maybelle goodbye, much less Annie. But some day, maybe not until Annie and I have be- come aged and gray, when without such keen heart aches, and when we shall cling only to the sweet memory of what wo might have been to each other, perhaps—if you should ever think it wise—you may tell Annie—what—she was—to me—some day— when—” The sentence was unfinished. John Marsden arose and groped his way from the room like a blinded man. His heart was bidding goodbye to the home which held her, to the air she breathed, to the presence of her spirit which had like a sweet perfume, pervaded everywhere she had moved. His soul almost cried aloud for her, but he shut his lips together and literally ran down the great winding stairway. Through his tears ho did not see that he was running against a woman, until he had caught her in his arms to prevent pushing her backward. Forgetful of everything else in the wide world, he exclaimed; “O my beloved, my heart, my very life, how can I say good-bye!” She gave a little cry of mingled surprise, fright and unguarded joy, and clung to him panting and trembling in every fiber of her being. For a mo ment his hold upon her tightened until he felt her heart throbbing against his. Iler whispered: “John!” And his whispered; , “Annie! ” Brought their half smiling lips together once, twice, thrice. Then with a stifled groan; “O God!” He almost crushed the frail little form against his heart, and all but roughly placing her to one side, he continued down the stairway, not in haste this time, but slowly and deliberately, and with the expression of a man walking in his sleep. When he reached the outer door, he hesitated, retraced his steps and entered a secluded drawing room which was seldom used. He tried to realize what had oc curred, but was not so soon recovered from the in toxication of the pain-ladened joy, to be fully aware that this was the crucial hour of his life—not only of his own life but also that of two others so close ly interwoven with his own. lie was locked within the lion’s den at last, fighting the beasts of almost every human passion. Until now, he had always had such confidence in his own strength of purpose. Often he had somewhat sharply rebuked others for falling under temptation. lie had not had unfail ing sympathy for and patience with the weak and stumbling ones of his church at all times. Until now he had never been able to realize what battles even Julian Deveaux had been fighting. Had Julian been right? Was this world but hell itself after all? Through the despair of this hour he saw it so for the first time. And what almost crazed him was that he could not, in an hour of such darkness, understand God’s dealings with him. Over and over again his soul cried in unutterable anguish: “My Father, my Brother, my Comforter in every time past, thou hast known the uppermost desire of my soul from my earliest knowledge of Thee, thou hast known my desire to do Thy will in all things, thou hast known my desire to consecrate my life wholly to thy service, thou hast known my de sire to keep myself a fit temple for the indwelling of thy Spirit. And, yet, I now covet the wife of the man for the salvation of whose soul I have of fered Thee my life. And Thou hast taken me at my word. Thou art requiring of me, my life! my life ! yes, my very life! The very last drop of sweet, warm, thrilling blood of human passion left throb bing within my heart! Did I know what it meant when I offered Thee my all! No, no, I did not know until this hour! I did not know. How could I know? For this has been my first hour of the sweetness to the full which this life can hold. Let me still hold it to my heart just a little while, a little while!” • •** (Continued next week.) 11