“God reward you, sir!” she sobbed. “Already you have given me clearer views of Him than any minister or any sermon ever did.”
A few moments later Mrs. Joyce rose to leave. He pressed three sovereigns into her hand, and in spite of her tearful protestations made her take the money.
“If you are ever in desperate need, come to me, or write me, Mrs. Joyce, and I will help you, if I can. Meanwhile, be assured that the little I have done for you I would have done for any stranger, for, after all, the human race is linked by a strange, a mighty family tie. Good-bye.”
She wrung the hand he gave her, then with a sudden, impulsive movement she lifted it sharply to her lips and kissed it with a tearful passionateness.
The next moment she was gone. His hand was wet with her tears.
“Poor soul!” he muttered.
Passing across the room to the window, he glanced out. She was moving down the street. Her handkerchief was pressed to her eyes.
“How strange,” he murmured, as he turned from the window, “are these chance encounters in life! Like ships at sea, we sight, hail, exchange some kind of greeting, then pass on. Do we, after all, I wonder, unconsciously influence each other in these apparently trivial life-encounters? If so, how? Take this episode now, for instance. Will my encounter with that poor soul have any effect on my life, or on hers? If so, what?”