ee ye, naither minister
nor people;" and so Carmichael went through the service, and had almost
reached the end of his sermon before he knew that Kate was in the
church.

She was very conscious of him and keenly observant of every detail--his
white silk hood thrown into relief by the black Geneva gown, his fair,
flushed face touched with tenderness and reverence, a new accent of
affection in his voice as one speaking to his charge, and especially
she noted in this Free Kirkman a certain fervour and high hope, a
flavour also of subtle spirituality, that were wanting in Dr. Davidson.
His hair might have been better brushed, and his whiskers were
distinctly ragged--but those things could be easily put right; then she
tossed her head in contempt of herself. It had come to a fine pass
when a girl that had carried her heart untouched through Simla should
be concerned about the appearance of a Highland minister. The General
was well acquainted with that proud motion, and began to regret that
they had come. It was Davidson's blame, who had sent them to hear a
good sermon for once, as he said, and now Kate would only find material
for raillery. He tugged his moustache and wished that they were again
in the open air.

When the sermon came, the occupants of the manse pew composed
themselves for fifteen minutes' patient endurance, after the well-bred
fashion of their Church, each selecting a corner with a skill born of
long experience. They were not, however, to rest in peace and
detachment of mind till the doxology (or its corresponding formula in
the Scottish Kirk) summoned them back, for this was to be a quite
memorable sermon for them and their fellow-hearers and all Drumtochty.

Carmichael had been lecturing through Old Testament history, and having
come to the drama of Elijah and Jezebel, had laid himself out for its
full and picturesque treatment. He was still at that age when right
seems to be all on one side, and a particular cause can be traced down
the centuries in all lands and under all conditions. For the most part
of two days he had wandered over the moor in the bright, cold November
weather reconstructing the scene in Israel on Scottish lines, and he
entered the pulpit that morning charged with the Epic of Puritanism.
Acute critics, like Elspeth Macfadyen, could tell from Carmichael's
walk down the church that he was in great spirits, and even ordinary
people caught a note of triumph in his voice as he gav