This solitary walk brought to his mind one night, months past, when he had walked the streets of Crichton, as solitary and wretched as now, from evening till daybreak. "I will not think of it!" he muttered, and cast the recollection aside. "O my God! who shall pray for me, who cannot pray for myself?"
A sound of singing caught his ear. He was passing a Protestant church, where they were holding an evening meeting, and they were singing a plain chant, with only a thread of accompaniment. It sounded tuneful and earnest, and he stepped into the vestibule to listen.
They sang:
"Hear, Father, hear our prayer!
Wandering unknown in the land of the stranger,
Be with all trav'lers in sickness or danger,
Guard thou their path, guide their feet from the snare.
Hear, Father, hear our prayer!"
Some one was praying for him without being aware of it! There was in the world a charity which stretched out beyond the familiar, and touched the unknown sufferer.
As he was leaving the vestibule, he noticed two men, one standing at either side, on the steps without the door. Rather annoyed at being found in such a place, he passed them hastily, and went on. When he thought himself free from them, his memory went back to that prayerful strain:
"Guard thou their steps, guide their feet from the snare."
Yes, they were praying for him, these strangers, who had seemed so alien.
Presently he became aware that he was not free from the persons who had been observing him at the church door. The steps of two men were following him. He quickened his pace, and they also quickened theirs. He went into a side street, and perceived that they were still on his track. There was no escape. His feet had not been guided from the snare. A chilly sensation passed over him, which might be either anger or fear. He paused one instant, then turned and faced his pursuers.