"I suppose you have come from the church," he said.
Justin shook his head.
"I have expected you for some time," said Mr. Huntington, wearily, "you who ought to be pastor, and I your henchman. It is to you the people now go for spiritual help. I am not jealous, I assure you. Come,—you have some message from your brother deacons. They wish me to resign."
"I am no formally appointed messenger, yet, now that you mention the brethren with whom I am associated, I may say that, although we have had no consultation, I know every one of them recognises the fact that you are troubled and out of health. Every one of them would be pleased to see you take a brief holiday. You have served us faithfully so far,—no formal complaint is made as yet. On the contrary, you have our deepest sympathy, and I can assure you in all sincerity that, in times when you may feel yourself alone, there are interested hearts watching your struggles and praying for your happy issue out of them."
The young man put out his hand and gripped Justin's. "You understand?"
"I understand," said Justin. "May God help you, my dear brother. I am going to Boston to-night. Will you go with me?"
Mr. Huntington suddenly turned from him and hid his face against the rows of musty books on the wall.
"It was such a good man that used to tenant this room," said Justin, softly. "I can imagine him grieving with you in your perplexities. You will give me the pleasure of your company to-night?"
"I will," said his companion, in a choked voice. "You are going purposely to take me— How can I thank you?" and he groped blindly for the friendly palm that he knew was once more outstretched toward him.
Justin went quietly down-stairs and told the agitated Mrs. Negus that the clergyman was going on a short trip to Boston with him, then, returning to his own home, he broke the news to Derrice.