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on to other things, and the wrath of the Mollalie chief gradually cooled.

Then came Cecil. It was a grand opening. He could speak of his own people, of their ancient savagery and present splendor, and show how the gos pel of love and justice had been the cause of their elevation. Then would come the appeal to the In dians to accept this faith as their own and share in its uplifting power. It was a magnificent opportunity, the opportunity of a life-time.

But the mental conflict he had just passed through had rent his mind like a volcanic upheaval. It possessed no longer the intense concentration which had been the source of its strength. Tenderness, benevolence, missionary zeal, were still there, but no longer sovereign. Other passions divided his heart; a hope less and burning love consumed his being.

He spoke, but the fire was gone from his delivery and the vividness from his imagination. His eloquence was not what it had been; his heart was no longer in his work, and his oration was a failure.

Even the Indians noticed that something was lack ing in his oratory, and it no longer moved them as it had done. Cecil realized it, and strove to speak with more energy, but in vain \ he could not arouse him self; and it was with a consciousness of failure that he brought his speech to a close and resumed his seat.

To a man of his morbid conscientiousness only one conclusion was possible.

"God sent me to proclaim salvation to these children of darkness," he thought, "and I have turned aside to fill my heart with a woman s love. His wrath is on me. He has taken his spirit from me. I am