Bending at the Saviour's feet,
Thou may'st feel this very moment
Pardon, precious, pure, and sweet.
Oh, be saved, His grace is free; oh, be saved, He died
for thee."
The music ceased, and the meeting was closed with earnest prayer; but any who wished to stay behind were asked to do so.
"Will you stop, father?" The question came timidly from Phil.
"No; I've had enough. Let me get out of this!" and in a moment Mellor had slipped from between his boys and was gone. Then finding himself outside, he paused for a moment, as if hesitating where to go or what to do; but finally he turned up a side street, and walked with short, rapid strides up and down.
There was a tremendous struggle going on in his heart just then. The words at the Mission Hall had gone straight home. His thoughts were indeed troubling him. But how should he get rid of them—confession or concealment? For years he had tried the latter, and now once more conscience was speaking. "Make a clean breast of it to God and man." How could he? It might mean arrest, imprisonment; and yet his present life was hardly preferable. Should he? Could he? And up and down the street he paced with this tremendous struggle going on in his heart. Christ longing to save, and Satan longing to keep his slave. But the decision lay with Mellor. At last it came.
"No," he muttered to himself, "I can't face it. It's too hard. I must go on as I am!" And with this resolve he turned into the public-house at the corner, there (as Mr. Armstrong had said) to try and drown his thoughts in drink.