Alone before the altar and before the tribunal of his own conscience the soul of Adoni Bourd-alone was passing through a fiery ordeal. His self-accusation was unsparing. An outraged conscience was passing sentence upon him: "Unworthy ! Unworthy! You have been faithless to the high trust reposed in you; have failed in the practice of your daily teachings; have weakly yielded to the conventions of men, when you should have given unswerving allegiance to that divine law about which you so glibly prated."

A keen sense of shame overwhelmed him.

How much easier it was to tell others what to do than to command himself. Had he been true to his convictions he would have refused to unite in marriage these two whom he knew to be wholly unsuited to each other. He should never have permitted himself to be a party to the numberless crimes that are being permitted in the holy name of love; that result in peopling this world with unwelcome children, mere spawn, incapable of carrying out the creative purpose and God's principle of love.

In anguish of spirit, Adoni bowed his head upon the altar and moaned aloud.

The recollection of the mute appeal that flashed from Truth Ralston's eyes into his soul would haunt him through eternity, the cry of a soul in mortal extremity - and he, a disciple of God, had failed to help her.

That sudden and terrible moment had revealed to him his weakness, leaving his soul uncovered in utter nakedness. He believed himself strong, but now realized in humiliation that no soul is stronger than its weakest attribute.

He scorned to excuse his action with the specious plea so often heard that if he did not marry them some one else would. The world does not want excuses; it needs strong men to brave the world's censure, who can stand calm and unmoved while the storm of its wrath rages about them; and he who professed to be a guide in spiritual things, who possessed the knowledge and marvelous power which men once called miraculous, a power to heal body, soul and mind, had in a moment been rudely shorn of every vestige of authority and influence.

With this power he had restored Truth Rals-ton's physical blindness but had left her soul in spiritual darkness concerning fundamental principles of life. He now realized that he should have warned her of the consequences of marriage with a man of Vallero's type, whose conquests among women were his boasts, whose God was self-gratification. That he should have remonstrated with her mother, and if needful, should have appealed to Vallero himself. Ah! How well he could discern his duty now when it was too late. Oh! God, why had he been so blind; he who had eaten from the tree of knowledge and drank the bitter dregs of disappointment, of loneliness, and unsatisfied yearning in his own loveless marriage!

In the early flush of manhood he had married a woman whose fair outer form had deluded his senses. How bitter had been his awakening from a blind infatuation, when at last the unwelcome truth was forced upon him, that the object of his youthful ardor was wholly selfish and vain! He reflected how at first he had hoped to win her sympathy and co-operation in his work of healing and ministering to earth's unfortunates; had fondly dreamed of high achievements, which together they might accomplish, only to be mocked with the discovery that she was incapable of comprehending, much less of aiding, his lofty ideals.

Ever since his ill-considered marriage he had been striving to adjust his life to an impossible situation; he had sought to fulfill the duties of his high calling and satisfy the exacting demands of a worldly-minded woman in everything that had not involved a principle, and in consequence had frequently found himself in false positions.

The continual concessions to unworthy desires and ambitions of his wife had weakened his moral fibre, shorn him of his strength to cope with the crying needs of his time and had made of him a vacillating creature, incapable of saving a pure soul from the degradation of a loveless marriage.

All his manhood rose in revolt at the intolerable falseness of his position; no longer could he tread the path of renunciation in which a false duty had hitherto held him. The crisis of his life had come, a terrible conflict raged within his soul.

"A man cannot serve two masters." This thought came upon him with a force of conviction. At this supreme moment he must choose now, at the altar between God and man-made laws. He must be true to himself and vindicate the integrity of his soul, remaining true to the highest ideals of his nature and serve the Master.

There in the hushed stillness of the little sanctuary, Adoni Bourdalone vowed never again to unite a man and woman in wedlock until he was assured that a bond of divine love existed between them.

• . . •

The battle was won in high resolve - the storm had passed - a calm serenity enveloped him like a mantle.

During this ordeal through which Adoni had passed he had lost all account of time, and was oblivious to everything about him, until a sigh, long drawn, riveted his attention.

Hark! what was that?

Turning his head in the direction from whence came the sound, he listened. - Another sigh - then a faint sobbing brought waves of anguish to his sympathetic heart for he felt it to be the cry of a soul in despair.

From an obscure corner of the church he saw a girlish figure emerge and with faltering steps approach the altar. She was weeping bitterly. Instantly, Adoni was at her side - she lifted her eyes and endeavored to speak, but the sobs choked her utterance.

"Lillian, my child; what brings you here? What is the meaning of those tears? What has happened?"

"Save me! Oh! Save me!" she wailed, and in complete abandon, the girl fell upon her knees with a piteous cry of despair. The childlike figure drooped like a lily when the heat of noontide falls pitilessly upon it.