f
those benighted inquisitors we've left behind us. There are stars
behind those clouds; but there are none hidden behind the murky
creed of the deacons of Rehoboth. Do they expect me, doctor, to
carry their decision to Mrs. Stott and her daughter?'

'I believe they do. Hard messages, you know, must be delivered
both by ministers and doctors. It is my lot sometimes to tell
people that their days are numbered, when I would almost as soon
face death myself.'

'Well, I have made up my mind, doctor, to face the resignation of
Rehoboth rather than carry their heartless decision to Amanda.'

'Wait until morning, and then come on to my house and consult with
old Mr. Morell; he is staying with me for a day or two. You never
met with him. Perhaps he can guide, or at any rate help you.
Wisdom lies with the ancients, you know.'

'But are not the men who have refused admission to Amanda the
spiritual children of Mr. Morell? If his preaching has brought
about what we have seen and heard to-night, what guidance or help
can I get from him?'

'Just so,' said the doctor. 'I was not thinking of that. It's true
he was pastor here for over forty years, and our deacons are his
spiritual offspring. For all that, the old man's heart is right if
his head is wrong; and, after all, it's the heart that rules the
life.'

'Nay! no heart could thrive on a creed such as Rehoboth's. Why,
God's heart would grow Jean on it.'

'But Mr. Morell's heart is not lean, Mr. Penrose. It is not, I
assure you,' emphasized the doctor, as his companion uttered a
sceptical grunt. 'He is tenderness incarnate. You know _one_ good
thing came out of Nazareth, despite the scepticism of the
disciple.'

'Certainly a good thing did come out of Nazareth; but Nazareth,
bad as it was, was not a Calvinistic creed. I very much question
whether the creed of Rehoboth can preserve a tender heart.'

'Come and see,' laconically replied Dr. Hale.

'Very well, then, I'll treat my scepticism honestly. I will come
and see. To-night the hour is too late. I will look in to-morrow
morning.'

Mr. Penrose continued his homeward walk, conscious of the first
symptoms of the reaction which follows hours of tension such as
those through which he had just passed. He was limp. Morally as
well as physically his nerve was gone. He thought of the Apostle
who fought with beasts at Ephesus, and envied him his combatants.
His fretful impatience with those who differed from him
theologica