What could it mean?  Ah!  Perhaps it had not all been her fault!  Perhaps there were others who had helped push her down, smug in self-righteousness, to whom the resurrection would be more of a horror than to the pretty, ignorant child whose untaught feet had strayed into forbidden paths!  Who knew?  He was glad to look up and feel the Presence there!  Who knew what might have passed between the soul and God?  It was safe to leave that little sinful soul with Him who had died to save.  It was good to go out from there knowing that the pretty, sinful girl, the hardened, grizzled sot, the poor old toothless crone, the little hunchback newsboy who lay in the same row, were guarded alike and beloved by the same Presence that would go with him.

Around the little newsboy huddled a group of street gamins, counting out their few pennies, and talking excitedly of how they would buy him some flowers.  There were tear-stains down their grimy cheeks and it was plain they were pitying him, they who had perhaps yet to tread the paths of sin and deprivation and sorrow for many long years.  And the Presence there!  So near them, with the pitying eyes!  The young man knew the eyes were pitying!  If the children could only see!  He felt an impulse to turn back and tell them as he passed out into the street, yet how could he make them understand—­he who understood so feebly and intermittently himself?  He felt a great ache in himself to go out and shout to all the world to look up and see the Presence that was in their midst, and they saw Him not!

He was entirely aware that his present mental state would have seemed to him little short of insanity twenty-four hours before; that it might pass again as it had done before; and a kind of mental frenzy seized him lest it would.  He did not want to lose this assurance of One guiding through a world that was so full of sorrow as this one had recently revealed itself to him to be.  And with the world-old anguished “Give me a sign!” the cry of the soul reaching out to the unknown, he spoke aloud once more:  “God, if You are really there, let me find her!”

And yet if any had asked him just then if he ever prayed he would have told them no.  Prayer was to him a thing utterly apart from this cry of his soul, this longing for an understanding with God.

He walked on through streets he did not know, passing men and women with worn and haggard faces, tattered garments, and discouraged mien; and always that cry came in his soul, “Oh, if they only knew!” There was the Presence by his side, and men passed by and saw Him not!

He was walking in the general direction of the Good Samaritan Hospital, just as any one would walk with a friend through a strange place and accommodate his going to the man who was guiding him.  All the way there seemed to be a sort of intercourse between himself and his Companion.  His soul was putting forth great questions that he would some day take up in detail and go over little by little, as one will verify a problem that one has worked out.  But now he was working it out, becoming satisfied in his soul that this was the only way to solve the great otherwise unanswerable problems of the universe.