"Wrong again. Don't misunderstand me, but I think you are wrong. If God sends the trial, He will send strength to endure. You are not called upon yet to endure. All you are called upon to do at present is to put aside possibilities, and to trust for the future. The more childlike a life you can live just now the better—taking each day as it comes, and not looking forward. I am speaking both as your friend and as your medical adviser. This strain of expectation is the worst thing possible for you."
Mr. Wilmot uttered a simple "Yes" of acquiescence.
"You know that it is. Now mark my words, Wilmot. There must be a change. You must put the thing aside-give up analysis of your own symptoms—and have done with midnight battlings. What need for it all? HE will not let you be tried 'above that you are able.' Yours is a childlike trust, generally. Be a child now, in trust, and leave the matter in God's hands. He is all-powerful; and there is nothing more that you and I can do."
"You are right," Mr. Wilmot said quietly. "I have preached you a good many sermons, but never a truer one than you have just preached to me."
"Shall I quote from a sermon of your own?" asked Mr. Rawdon. "Your concluding words this morning, Wilmot—'Whatever the King may appoint, whether joy or sorrow, life or death, from Him shall come the needed strength. Not like St. Peter, but, like St. Paul, you shall be—Ready, aye Ready.' But standing ready to obey surely does not mean conjuring up possibilities of commands which never may be given."
"No. You are right," repeated Mr. Wilmot, pausing before a small house. "I must go in here."
"Not done the day's work yet! It is very late. Can't you go home and rest?"
"I promised to look in for a minute. This is the last."
"Good-bye, then."
The two shook hands and parted, Mr. Rawdon going on alone in the darkness. A sigh escaped him, suppressed hitherto. "Poor fellow!" he murmured.