So Kenneth Fortescue returned to Birmingham, feeling as if he had been on the very threshold of Elysium, and then had been relentlessly drawn back into a land of toil, anxiety, and privation. It was hard to settle down again to the weary routine of his daily duties; the little back parlour had never seemed so dismal before. He was as far as ever from gaining his proper position in the world, and, whilst matters continued as they were, he saw no prospect of having a home of his own, and therefore no hope of being able to win Marjorie Douglas's love. And Captain Berington had every opportunity of seeing her, and he thought her a most charming girl.
Kenneth Fortescue was in very low spirits during those dark November days that followed. Heavy smoke-laden fogs rested on the city; the gloomy skies were not calculated to cheer him, and he had made no friends in Birmingham to whom he could turn to relieve the monotony of his life.
One Sunday evening he was walking through the muddy streets, which, with their closed shop windows, looked even more dismal than usual, when he heard the sound of a church bell. It was not the great church near his lodgings, and which he usually attended on Sunday. He had walked into a part of the city where he had not been before. It was a small church begrimed outside with smoke, and possessing no beauty within, a plain, unadorned building in a poor part of the city. He thought he would obey the call of the bell and go to the service. Perhaps there would be some word for him there that evening.
The clergyman was a tall thin man with stooping shoulders, not attractive in appearance, and his voice was certainly not melodious. But he had got his message straight from his Master, and Kenneth Fortescue had been sent to receive that message.
The words of the text fell upon his heart like the soothing touch of a cool, loving hand upon the fevered brow.
"'O tarry thou the Lord's leisure: be strong, and He shall comfort thine heart; and put thou thy trust in the Lord.'" (Psalm xxvii. 14, Prayer-book version.)
Then came the simple sermon, devoid of all oratory, free from any attempt at grandiloquent language, as he urged his hearers to take the text as their watchword during the coming week. Each had his secret care; let him turn that care into earnest prayer. Then, having done that, let him wait patiently. God was sure to answer; but the answer must come in God's own time. Prayer cannot be lost; but we must not try to hasten God's hand; we must tarry the Lord's leisure. Then, doing that, we shall be strong and comforted.
The preacher ended with a verse, of which each member of the congregation was given a copy on leaving the church. That verse was always kept by Kenneth Fortescue as one of his greatest treasures:—
"Oh, tarry and be strong;
Tell God in prayer
What is thy hidden grief,
Thy secret care.
Yet, if no answer come,
Pray on and wait:
God's time is always best;
Never too late."