ence.

"Answer me," said John Ward.

"Mr. Moderator," replied the elder in a quavering voice, "if I do refer
to your wife, that is not the way it is to be considered. I refer to a
sin-sick soul. I refer to a--a cause of falling from grace, in this
church. I refer to a poor neglected sinner, who must be saved; yes, sir,
saved. If she happens to be your wife, I--I--am sorry."

The room was very silent. The flaring lamps shone on the bare,
whitewashed walls and on the shamed faces of the four men; the shadows
in the corners pressed upon the small centre of light. One of the lamps
smoked, and Mr. Bent rose to turn it down, and a deeper gloom settled
upon the group. Mr. Johnson nervously opened a hymn-book, and began to
turn the pages. For a moment the rustle of the paper was the only sound
that broke the quiet.

John Ward, appalled and angry, humiliated that his most sacred grief was
dragged from his heart to be gazed at and discussed by these men, was yet
silenced by his accusing conscience.

"There is no need," he said at last, with painful slowness, and breathing
hard, "to bring this matter before the Session. As preacher of this
church, I prefer to deal with that soul according to the wisdom God gives
me. I neither ask nor desire your advice."

Elder Dean turned to his companions, and raised his hands slightly. Mr.
Smith responded to his look by rising and saying, still gazing fixedly
upon the floor, "This ain't the way, Brother Ward, to consider this
matter. Your wisdom ain't enough, seein' that it has allowed things to
get to this pass. All we desire is to deal with Mrs. Ward for her own
good. Brother Dean speaks of the evil in the church,--ain't it our duty
to check that? It appears, sir, that, preacher of this church or not,
you've allowed her sin of unbelief to remain unreproved, and the
consequence is its spread in the church: that's what we're responsible
for; that's our duty. If you've neglected your duty, we ain't a-goin' to
neglect ours." He wagged his head emphatically, and then sat down.

John Ward was too entirely without self-consciousness to feel the change
in the tone of these men. Their old sincerely felt admiration and awe of
their preacher was gone. The moment they became his critics, they ceased
to feel his superiority. Disapproval was power, and their freedom from
the trammels of respect made them cruel. But the outcry of John's
conscience made him deaf to smaller things. He sat bending forwa