is sometimes given for a blessing; no rush of clear conviction. A soul had lain dormant ; a Master Hand passing by swept a few gentle chords, and the soul was touched into life, but not into any consciousness of its own existence.

The old man went onward through the fields, through the clear blue starlight; praying aloud as he went, comforting himself with promises. All through the town he prayed, passing along the lamp-lit streets, by the bridge where lights twinkled in the river.

The brethren at Bethel Chapel sat waiting for him, twelve or fourteen of them, round the square green-baize-covered table that stood below the pulpit. Two gaslights

burned dimly overhead, throwing ghostly shadows all round among the empty pews;

the wide galleries were in darkness; the clock ticked loudly, the hands moved onward, there was silence, expressive glances, movements of impatience.

"Perhaps the clock is a little fast," Mr. Verdon suggested, as the hands pointed to half-past seven. Whereupon with more or

less of physical effort twelve watches were drawn forth, and the clock belonging to Bethel Chapel cleared from imputation.

Yet still it was a clock that had no pity. There was aggressive self-complacency in its loud monotonous tick. Five minutes more, another five, another. It wanted now a quarter to eight. Did anybody there still suppose that Abel Kirke would come? The question was not asked in so many words, but one man asked it by his curling lip, and another by his unbent attitude. There would

be nothing to call for any attention that

evening.

When the inexorable clock struck eight, Mr. Verdon rose from his chair at the head of the table. He would make no comment,-he begged that no comment might be made by anyone, but a prayer instead.-Mr. Verdon was interrupted:·

"Do you mean as we're to separate without comin' to any conclusion or decision of any kind ?"

"I fear we must," Mr. Verdon said, a little timidly. "We can decide nothing without evidence, you know, Brother Hall.”

"Evidence! Who needs any evidence now? If we can decide nothin' else, we can decide that Abel Kirke be no longer considered a member of this connection.-I beg leave to move that"

"Pardon me, Brother Hall," Mr. Verdon begged mildly, but with evident distress, "pardon me, but I should take it as а personal favour if you would refrain from moving in this matter to-night. I ask the same favour from the brethren here present generally. Another meeting can be arranged. I will make effort myself to get accurate evidence or information. I beg once more that nothing be done to-night."

With various degrees of reluctance Mr. Verdon's request was granted. The meeting was closed with a prayer. The brethren looked at each other, some sadly, some triumphantly; great coats and mufflers were resumed; the gaslights were turned out; by twos and threes the brethren left the chapel.

There was a long flight of steps that led down through a dark narrow passage into the

street. A brother stumbled in descending, and one stepped forward to help him. There was a railing at the side, and something lying by the railing.

Something that had lain there on the dark damp steps for an hour or more. There were

houses on either side down below; and men and women passing about. The shrill cry of the milkmaid had sounded through the yard, the clatter of her cans, the laugh that followed her thread-bare jest. Still, there had been no movement on the steps.

From above the light of a solitary gaslamp streamed; a few silvery hairs glittered where the dark stirless figure lay. The noise from the street below came loud and rude; the few dim stars were very far above the tops of the quaintly-built chimneys.

A brother had stumbled, and one had