“Surely, most appropriate in Saint Michael’s parish. Oh, I felt very much out of heart before; but you have greatly encouraged me, and I hope and pray that we may make some way now.”
“Pray?” said Guy. “Yes. That’s a very hard thing to do; but it makes a great difference.”
And the young vicar, as he looked into Guy’s eyes, felt for the first time that he understood what was meant by “wrestling in prayer.” He was so much impressed that he could make no sort of obvious and natural answer. He was silent for a moment, and then said—
“You will tell me every idea that occurs to you? I shall be too grateful. And—when you are strong enough—if the Hall is occupied, or uninhabitable, do come to the Vicarage. I’ve made that weather-tight, and—you could see everything for yourself.”
“Thanks,” said Guy; “I think I could do that—I will, sometime. And Godfrey will be coming over about the repairs.”
To Godfrey it was a distinct relief when Guy called him after the visitor was gone, and dictated the letter to be written to the agent of the Australian sheep-farmers, who supplied the mill with raw wool, and who had not supplied it in the past, according to the samples offered. Palmer Brothers did not intend to be cheated in the future.
Then Guy was left alone in the wintry sunshine to think over the past night.
“The Enemy”—as he phrased it—had indeed come to him as before; but he had not been afraid, for, in the same inward region of unspeakable experience, he had felt for the first time, the presence of a Friend.