And to John Barclay there on the rear platform of the car, with the crash of the great train in his ears, the same face looked out of the night at him that he saw back in his twenties, and he knew that the same prayer to the same God would go up that night for him that went up from the same lips so long ago.
The man on the car platform rose from his chair, and went into the car.
"Well," he said to Lycurgus Mason as the old man reached for his watch, "how about it ?" Lycurgus replied as he put it back in his pocket, "Just seven minutes and a half.

She's covered a lot of track in those seven minutes!" And John Barclay looked back over the years, and saw a boy riding like the wind through the night, changing horses every half-hour, and trying to tell time from his watch by a rising moon, but the moon was blown with clouds like a woman's hair, and he could not see the hands on the watch face.

So as he looked at the old man sitting crooked over in the great leather chair, John Barclay only grunted, "Yes--she's covered a long stretch of country in those seven minutes." And he picked the Biography off the table and read to himself: "I sometimes think that only that part of the soul that loves is saved.

The rest is dross and perishes in the fire.

Whether the love be the love of woman or the love of kind, or the love of God that embraces all, it matters not.