"I know, but I thought perhaps you could get off. Are you so very much needed there?"
"I suppose there is no one who could take my place now. I wish I could, but I can't. You'll have to excuse me. Thank you very much for thinking of me."
"I'm sorry, very sorry, Duncan. Good night."
In the doctor's tones there was more than a passing regret that he could not have his young friend's company to tea, and Duncan heard all they expressed.
Duncan McNair was not the sort of person to keep a journal. Generally, he kept his inmost thoughts to himself, except when he talked to the pavement or the window curtains, or some other inanimate thing without the power of revealing secrets. If he had made a true record of his spiritual life at that time, and we had been privileged with a peep at the pages, we might have found records like these:—
"Spent this day without prayer.
"Haven't had time for a single verse.
"Went to prayer-meeting tonight for the sake of appearance; found it dull; wonder what the reason is?
"A prayerless day. I spend a great many such.
"It is a fact that if I am following Christ at all, it is afar off. How did I ever get so nearly out of sight of the Leader? I hardly ever read or pray in my closet nowadays.
"Worldly duties and pleasures give me no time for spiritual growth."
How soon a prayerless Christian finds he has lost his hold upon Jesus! I have written a prayerless Christian! The words sound very strangely. If you call yourself a Christian, and yet are living without prayer, would it not be well to stop and inquire what right you have to the name? And this was the question that was presently brought home to Duncan's conscience. Just now he was too busy, too much engrossed with pleasure seeking, to give place to the duty of self-examination.
The next morning after the reunion, he met Mr. Earle.
"Good morning."
"Good morning, sir."