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282 He was not looking at Dick now. His eves went straight part to the window, but Dick knew that he was looking at himself. A wave of remorse swept over Dick. He was never hart by the roughest handling. But Tempest was of such different material.

"Tempest"

Tempest's glance brushed across his for a moment. There was no expression in it.

"You can go," he said.

"Tempest, for God's sake don't"

"Leave God out," said Tempest. "I told you that before. And go. I told you that too."

Dick went. He was scarcely through the door when he heard Tempest spring to it and lock it. And then there came no other sound at all, although he listened for a long, long while.

Tempest had dropped into a chair, folding his arms on the back, and his face was hidden on his arm. No part of him seemed alive but his brain, and that was making vivid blazing realities which seemed to fill up earth and sky. It was true. All that Dick had said to him was true. He had that influence. He was wielding it daily. He could not lose it. What was he doing with it? God in Heaven, what was he doing with it? What was he doing with that gospel of work and religion and duty which he had called men to hear him preach? What was he doing with it—he who stood for the high standard which he had set; for the moral and physical power by which men knew him: he who had not hesitated to stand in his own small corner for Canada herself?

He knew what he was doing with it. Now that Dick had told him he knew, and the sweat came out on his body as he recognised it. In so far as the human can do it he was making a mock of God Himself. He—Tempest! And now God and love and truth had made a mock of him. He cowered lower over his chair, and he stayed there, scarcely moving, until the sounds of day came into the world beyond the door again.

That night was an uneasy one for Dick also. He rose early and went down to the yard where a half-packed sled stood with the dog-harness slung across it. Silently he