When Philip closed with a prayer of tender appeal that the Spirit of Truth would make all hearts to behold the truth as one soul, the audience remained seated longer than usual, still under the influence of the subject and the morning’s sensational service. All through the day Philip felt a certain strain on him, which did not subside even when the evening service was over. Some of the members, notably several of the mothers, thanked him, with tears in their eyes, for his morning message. Very few of the men talked with him. Mr. Winter did not come out to the evening service, although he was one of the very few men members who were invariably present. Philip noted his absence, but preached with his usual enthusiasm. He thought a larger number of strangers was present than he had seen the Sunday before. He was very tired when the day was over.
The next morning, as he was getting ready to go out for a visit to one of the mills, the bell rang. He was near the door and opened it. There stood Mr. Winter. “I would like to see you a few moments, Mr. Strong, if you can spare the time,” said the mill-owner, without offering to take the hand Philip extended.
“Certainly. Will you come up to my study?” asked Philip, quietly.
The two men went upstairs, and Philip shut the door, as he motioned Mr. Winter to a seat, and then sat down opposite.
CHAPTER III.
“I have come to see you about your sermon of yesterday morning,” began Mr. Winter, abruptly. “I consider what you said was a direct insult to me personally.”
“Suppose I should say it was not so intended,” replied Philip, with a good-natured smile.
“Then I should say you lied!” replied Mr. Winter, sharply.
Philip sat very still. And the two men eyed each other in silence for a moment. The minister reached out his hand, and laid it on the other’s arm, saying as he did so, “My brother, you certainly did not come into my house to accuse me unjustly of wronging you? I am willing to talk the matter over in a friendly spirit, but I will not listen to personal abuse.”