“I can and do!” cried the minister bravely.  “A belief that does not shape the life of the believer is not religion!  Faith that does not light the path of the present is not the inspiration of Heaven!  The Spirit of Christ is an ever-present reagent, neutralizing every rancor of human strife and blending all grief into harmonious concord.  Every human act should be weighed in the balance of a man’s belief.  If he sacrifice divine faith to worldly ambition, he is in need of the chastening rod, and God will surely punish him!”

“You do not preach that from your pulpit, Dr. Villard,” he said slowly, “and there is hardly a man in your congregation who does not need it.”

Dr. Villard’s thin face turned to a sickly pallor.  It was a just retribution.  He accepted it meekly.

“We ministers are but human,” he began, softly.

There was a rap on the door.  It came as a welcome interruption.

When Mr. Forbes opened the door he saw his assistant, Mr. Watkins.  The young man’s face was the color of a corpse, and his hollow eyes were red from weeping.

“I must see you, if only for a minute, sir,” he said hastily, then as he caught sight of the visitor a flush spread over his features.

True to his nature, Duncan Forbes scowled heavily for a moment.  He would have sent Mr. Watkins away if his guest had not prevented it.

“As you would be done by, Brother Forbes,” he whispered quickly.

The next moment he was gone and Mr. Watkins had entered.

CHAPTER XV.

A plain truth from Mr. Watkins.

Duncan Forbes roused himself to hear his second visitor’s errand.  He knew that it must be something important, yet he felt bored and disinterested.

Business matters were far from his thoughts to-day, yet for forty years they had consumed his entire attention.

Mr. Watkins seemed to be struggling for words—­he looked pained and embarrassed.  He shifted his hat from one hand to the other, and his thin face reddened and paled alternately.

For the first time in his life Duncan Forbes looked upon his assistant as another man’s son—­the loved and loving child of another father.  It was a queer sensation; he could not get used to it; then came a memory of Jack, and his emotion conquered for the moment.

“You are excited, Watkins; sit down,” he said huskily.  “Something else has gone wrong at the store, I suppose.  Well, let it go; it can wait until to-morrow.”

“No, sir, it can’t wait!” blurted out Mr. Watkins.  “If it could I should not have come, knowing as I did of your dreadful sorrow!”

Again the thrill of surprise shook the man’s every fibre.  Another of his victims had remembered that it was his day of grief, and the very tones spoke of sympathy for his affliction.

“Well, then, what is it?” He spoke with some of his old sternness.  “Speak out, Watkins; you know my habits.  I always expect promptness in these errands.”