That letter was sufficient reward for all his waiting and disappointment. It was so tender, so trusting, so full of longing for his coming. Words which had refused to leave her tongue during those few brief hours of intercourse after their mutual confessions flowed easily from her pen. Again the wonder came to him that this girl who wrote to him with such confidence and laid bare her heart to him should be the same as she who had flouted him on the deck of the Hailoong only a few short months before. He had to read the letter again and again and look yet once more at the signature—"Jessie MacAllister," to be sure.
There was another thought. Her father must know and be satisfied. That gave him no little comfort.
But with this he suddenly remembered that he had promised Mr. MacAllister to be back shortly. He had no idea how long he had spent reading that letter. He sprang to his feet and hurried out to the verandah, where MacKay had joined the father and son. At his apology for being longer than he had expected there came again the little twinkle in the grey eyes and the quiet reply:
"No apologies are necessary. I, too, have not found the time long."
It did not entirely remove Sinclair's embarrassment. But the business man went on in a serious tone:
"Dr. Sinclair, I am informed by Dr. MacKay that your Church has refused to appoint you a medical missionary."
"Yes, Mr. MacAllister, they have rejected me. They do not consider that I am sufficiently devout or sufficiently orthodox to be trusted to heal the heathen."
"Yes! Yes! I understand. I have seen a lot of this in the church. There is a wrong standard. A devotion and spirituality which is too deep and real to be wordy is rejected, and that shallow, spurious kind which vents itself in talk is accepted. A man who says nothing but sacrifices himself is given second place, and he who does nothing but talk of self-sacrifice is put first. They are less concerned about orthodoxy of life than they are about orthodoxy of creed. But a better day is coming. These things will right themselves by and by. In the meantime you want work, do you not?"
"I certainly do."
"There is a scheme I wish to lay before you. God has just given me the greatest joy of my life. My son, my Allister, has been restored to me. I want to establish some permanent memorial of my gratitude, something which will be of use and do good to men. It was by a doctor that my son was saved from a cruel death. It was by a doctor and in a hospital that he was nursed back to health. It was by a doctor that he has been restored to me, and will be restored to his mother and sister. It seems to me that I could give no more fitting token of my thankfulness than to erect and equip a hospital and ask that doctor to take charge of it. Dr. Sinclair, will you accept the position?"