He looked out of the window again and was silent.  Then he asked, “Are they all against me?  Was there no one to stand up for me?” The question came with a faint smile that was far more heart-breaking to his wife than a flood of tears.  She burst into a sob.

“Yes, you have friends.  Mr. Winter fought for you—­and others.”

“Mr. Winter!—­my old enemy!  That was good.  And there were others?”

“Yes, quite a number.  But nearly all the influential members were against you.  Philip, you have been blind to all this.”

“Do you think so?” he asked simply.  “Maybe that is so.  I have not thought of people so much as of the work which needed to be done.  I have tried to do as my Master would have me.  But I have lacked wisdom, or tact, or something.”

“No, it is not that.  Do you want to know what I think?” His wife fondly stroked the hair back from his forehead, as she sat on the couch by him.

“Yes, little woman, tell me.”  To his eyes his wife never seemed so beautiful or dear as now.  He knew that they were one in this their hour of trouble.

“Well, I have learned to believe since you came to Milton that if Jesus Christ were to live on the earth in this century and become the pastor of almost any large and wealthy and influential church and preach as He would have to, the church would treat Him just as Calvary Church has treated you.  The world would crucify Jesus Christ again even after two thousand years of historical Christianity.”

Philip did not speak.  He looked out again toward the tenements.  The winter day was drawing to its close.  The church spire still stood out sharp cut against the sky.  Finally he turned to his wife, and almost with a groan he uttered the words:  “Sarah, I do not to like to believe it.  The world is full of the love of Christ.  It is not the same world as Calvary saw.”

“No.  But by what test are nominal Christians and church-members tried to-day?  Is not the church in America and England a church in which the scribes and pharisees, hypocrites, are just as certainly found as they were in the old Jewish church?  And would not that element crucify Christ again if He spoke as plainly now as then?”

Again Philip looked out of the window.  His whole nature was shaken to its foundation.  Repeatedly he drove back the thought of the church’s possible action in the face of the Christ of this century.  As often it returned and his soul cried out in anguish at the suggestion of the truth.  Even with the letter of Calvary Church before him he was slow to believe that the Church as a whole or in a majority of cases would reject the Master.

“I have made mistakes.  I have been lacking in tact.  I have needlessly offended the people,” he said to his wife, yielding almost for the first time to a great fear and distrust of himself.  For the letter asking his resignation had shaken him as once he thought impossible.  “I have tried to preach and act as Christ would, but I have failed to interpret him aright.  Is it not so, Sarah?”