The press next morning devoted entire pages to the sensation in the Pilgrim Church. Portraits of Gordon, his life and theories, sketches of the extraordinary scene in his pulpit, a full stenographic report of his address which he had carefully corrected at midnight, portraits of his wife and children, pictures of the old church, its reading-rooms, clubhouses and coffee-house, were exploited.

His letter of resignation and the gift of a millon dollars for building a vast Temple of Humanity, that would be a forum of free thought in the heart of the metropolis, were the subject of separate editorials in every paper.

Speculation as to the identity of this mysterious millionaire, who had apparently deserted the army of entrenched wealth to support this daring young revolutionist, filled columns. But it was all the wildest guessing. Many of the greater magnates hastened to deny with emphasis that they were in any way connected with the scheme. Several of them denounced the preacher as a dangerous man whose wild theories threatened social order. Gordon breathed a sigh of relief when he found not a line hinting at Kate Ransom’s part in the drama or linking his name with hers.

After two o’clock, when he finished his last conference with the reporters and his friends, he went to a hotel where he was not known. He spent the rest of the night pacing the floor fighting to a finish the battle between the memory of Ruth and his children and his fierce new passion.

Just before dawn he lay down and fell asleep, dreaming of Kate. The battle between the flesh and the spirit had ended.

He slept until noon, ate a hasty breakfast, called at the Ransom house a moment, and hurried to his home.

His wife had read the morning papers with increasing amazement at the sensation created, and a sense of impending tragedy began to crush her. For hours she had been walking back and forth from her window watching for his approach, until now she dreaded to see him.

At the sound of his footstep she recalled the fact that she was the judge and he the culprit in the scene to be enacted. She had demanded an explanation of the meaning of the meeting with this woman, and she would have it. If his excuse were good she would be generous in her love and beg him to begin once more their old life, even if she threw the last shred of pride to the winds and made herself his veriest slave. And yet her heart misgave her. She felt herself lost and ruined before the battle began, but determined to play her part bravely.

She watched him over the banisters as he stepped into the hall and greeted the children with unusual tenderness.

He took Lucy’s little form up and placed her arms around his neck.

“Now hug me long, and hard, and kiss me sweet,” he whispered.

The child squeezed his neck and, placing her hands on his cheeks, softly kissed his lips and eyes as she had often seen her mother do. He ran his hand gently through her brown curls that seemed a perfect mixture of her mother’s and his own, and Ruth thought his hand trembled as he kissed her again.

“I never saw you quite so beautiful, my baby, as this morning,” he said, as he placed her on the floor.

When he entered the room upstairs Ruth had recovered her composure and stood waiting, her petite figure drawn to its full height, her anxious face unusually thin, her eyes, set in the dark rings of a sleepless night, looking blacker and stormier than ever in the shadows of her disheveled hair.

“Sorry I could not come sooner, Ruth,” he began, with evident embarrassment. “But I did not get to sleep until just before day, and I was so exhausted I slept until noon.”

“Let us waste no words,” said the soft, round voice. “I have waited long; I am waiting still for ycur explanation. Why was that woman in your study alone with you last night at half-past ten o’clock?”

“You wish to know the whole truth?”

“I demand it.”

“Very well,” he replied deliberately. “The immediate reason is a secret of great importance, I must ask you to guard it sacredly.”

“I’ve kept a dark one in my soul. You have had no cause to complain.”

“The morning papers are full of wild speculation as to the millionaire who gave that immense sum to build the Temple. Miss Ransom gave the money.”

“Impossible!” she gasped.

“So I thought at first. A lawyer came in the afternoon and told me of the gift without a hint of its author. In answer to a request on a card asking that I inform her of the results of my appeal, I called at her house—-”

“Before you called at your own or informed your wife,” she interrupted with bitterness.

“Yes; you have ceased to care about rny work. But there was another and more urgent reason why I called,”

“Doubtless!” she cried impatiently.

“When the import of this gift fully dawned on me, the fulfilment of my grandest hopes in the very moment of defeat (for the popular subscription was a failure), I was overwhelmed with gratitude to God. I fell on my knees and thanked Him. And then, Ruth—”

He paused and looked at her wistfully in pity for the little weak figure that would reel beneath the blow of his words.

“And then what?” she asked quickly.

Gordon lowered his chin and rested it on his hand, while a dreamy tone came into his voice, softening it to its lowest notes, and a trance-like look overspread his face.

“And then I recalled that I had been deceiving you and myself and another. I faced for the first time honestly the fact that I was madly in love with a woman not my wife—”

Ruth went white, gave an inarticulate groan, staggered and sank into a chair near him, sobbing in agony.

“Oh! Frank, for the sake of Jesus, the friend of the weak, who loved little children, whose name you have so often spoken, have mercy on me! Do not tell me any more. I am only a woman—I cannot bear it!”

“But the truth is best, Ruth. You must hear it,” he went on rapidly. “I asked God to forgive me for the wrong I had done you and her. I said I would tear that love out of my soul if it killed m............