And yet, to-night, here you are,
watching the tricks of men who can speak that sacred name in such a way
that it will make even you, who are used to this, shudder and turn cold.
"In the name of the Saviour whom you love, what do you here?"
It was to Tip as if Christ Himself had asked that question. He turned
suddenly, and, with both hands pressed to his ears, fairly fought his way
through the crowd.
"Let me out! let me go!" He fairly shrieked the words at the astonished
doorkeeper, who stood aside to let him pass. Up the hill with swift,
eager steps he ran, trying still to shut out the ring of that awful oath,
the sound of that hateful voice, speaking the name which had so lately
become to him the one dear and precious name in earth or heaven. On, on,
up the hill, and then down on the other side, stopping finally at the
great tree under the hill, just across the pond. Stopping and sitting
down, he tried to think. What had he done? He had been warned, he had
been tempted, and he had _fallen_. It didn't help him now to think that
good men and women were there.
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