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 am a bery present frien' in time ob need.'"

Hernando's face twitched as he looked at Reuben. What did he see? An old black man? The vision belonged to Hernando alone; he seemed to hear a clock strike "I! II!" Hear the soft crackle of dying embers on the hearth in a room filled with shadows, feel a trembling old hand press his own in sympathy while they two "made sacrifice." Was his sacrifice "willing," was he glad to go to Shushan and had he remembered the "promise"? And yet in those six years he thought he had "worked out" his "own salvation," found the secret of happiness, sounded the doctrine of trust, drawn the specifications for a useful life in which the old world had no part. Yes, only thought; for that old world kept calling calling—and oh it was like sweet music in his ears!

"Just let the Kingdom of Heaven take you."

What else had he been doing for years, Hernando thought.

"Have you submitted those specifications?"

The voice sounded so near that Hernando