Toyner had just spoken of the sacrifice of Calvary, and to the preacher it seemed that he set it at naught, because he was claiming salvation for those who mocked as well as for those who believe.
"Think of it," he said; "you make wrong but an inferior kind of right.
You take away the reason for the one great Sacrifice, and in this you are slighting Him who suffered for you." Then he made, with all the force and eloquence he could, the personal appeal of the Christ whom he felt to be slighted.
"You have spoken of the sufferings of lost and wretched men," he went on; "think of His sufferings! You have spoken of your loneliness; think of His loneliness!" Then suddenly Bart Toyner made a gesture as a slave might who casts off the chains of bondage.

The appeal to which he was listening was not for him, but for some man whom the preacher's imagination had drawn in his place, who did not appropriate the great Sacrifice and seek to live in its power.

He did not now seek to explain again that the death of Christ was to him as an altar, the point in human thought where always the fire of the divine life descends upon the soul self-offered in like sacrifice.

He had tried to explain this; now he tried no more, but he held out his hands with a sign of joy and recovered strength.
"You came to help me; you have prayed for me; you have helped me; you have been given something to say.

Listen: you have told me of Abraham; he was called to go out alone, quite alone.