At every gaudy shop, at every smoke-grimed manufactory, at the face of every anxious victim of Mammon, of every sturdy, cheerful artisan, the fiend winked and pointed, crying, 'And what if he be ruined?
Look at the thousands who have, and are miserable--at the millions who have not, and are no sadder than their own tyrants.' Again and again he thrust the thought from him, but more and more weakly.

His whole frame shook; the perspiration stood on his forehead.

As he took his railway ticket, his look was so haggard and painful that the clerk asked him whether he were ill.

The train was just starting; he threw himself into a carriage--he would have locked himself in if he could; and felt an inexpressible relief when he found himself rushing past houses and market-gardens, whirled onward, whether he would or not, in the right path--homeward.
But was it the right path?
for again the temptation flitted past him.

He threw himself back, and tried to ask counsel of One above; but there was no answer, nor any that regarded.