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Rh never intended to be a martyr, and I can't be! I can't be!"

"Then you shouldn't have married a clergyman who believes in the sacredness of his calling."

It was an unkind thing for him to say, and he knew it the moment the words had left his lips, and he regretted that he had said them. He saw her face pale, and a hurt look come into her eyes, but she did not appear to be angry. He rose, crossed over to where she was sitting, and bent down and kissed her.

"There, dear," he said, "I'm sorry if I hurt you. We won't talk about it any more, and we'll hope for the best."

She laid her hand in his; but it was evident, from the look on her face, that the hurt remained, and that she found little comfort in his expression of regret.

"I must go out now," he added after a moment, "and make a sick call—Rodney McAllister, you know. And when I come back I'll go over my sermon for tomorrow."

He got his hat, and she helped him on with his overcoat, and kissed him good-bye at the door, but over them both there was a shadow of restraint of which they had seldom been aware during the years of their married life.

It was too bad, he thought, as he descended the steps of the rectory, crossed the lawn, and went down the pavement in the shadow of the church, that his wife had not the energy and the desire to join him, not only in his campaign for souls outside, but also in his crusade for righteousness within the Church. If she could only see beyond the circle of her daily life, if she could only understand and appreciate the things he stood for and fought for, if only she were an inspiration to him instead of a retarding force, with what added courage and enthusiasm, with what relentless perseverance and unconquerable energy could he not push forward to the accomplishment of his glorious purpose.