Now he could
only see the flushed, taunting face, the little eyes....
But Hogg's hour was not yet. He suddenly touched his cap, smiling.
"Well, good evening, Archdeacon. We'll be meeting again,"--and he was
gone.
As swiftly as the anger had flowed now it ebbed, leaving him trembling,
shaking, that strange sharp pain cutting his brain, his heart seeming to
leap into his head, to beat there like a drum, and to fall back with heavy
thud into his chest again. He stood waiting for calm. He was humiliated,
desperately, shamefully. He could not go on here; he must leave the place.
Leave it? Be driven away by that scoundrel? Never! He would face them all
and show them that he was above and beyond their power.
But the peace of the evening and the glory of the stars gradually stole
into his heart. He had been wrong, terribly wrong. His pride, his conceit,
had been destroying him. With a sudden flash of revelation he saw it. He
had trusted in his own power, put himself on a level with the God whom he
served. A rush of deep and sincere humility overwhelmed him. He bowed his
head and prayed.
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