“My dear Jordan,” said his fellow-worker, “you will be wise to refrain from working among us for a while. You are one who burns the candle too freely. You will do well to learn to husband your strength.”
“In order,” said William Jordan, with his secret and beautiful smile, which many had learned to watch for, but none to understand, “that I may achieve that which lies before me?”
“That is true,” said the chief of the mission. “You must know that you are a worker of miracles in this parish.”
“And yet,” said William Jordan, “this is the last time the worker of miracles can enter this parish of yours.”
His stalwart and somewhat grim companion seemed to stagger at these words.
“Why—why, Jordan,” he said, “does this mean that you are going to desert us altogether?”
“I fear so,” said William Jordan. “To-night as I sat among you I heard a voice in my ears. To-morrow at dawn I go upon my way.”
“But, Jordan,” said his fellow-worker, “I beg you, I beseech you to return to us. We cannot part from you; we cannot do without you down here.”
“Alas!” said William Jordan, “I heard the voice as I worked among you to-night. A term has been placed to my days; it has almost expired; and yet my destiny is only half complete.”
The chief of the mission took the frail hands of the young man in the grip of a giant.