other's confidences,
through all the days of their pilgrimage. Their thoughts of each other
were mingled with all the memories of their courtships, their weddings,
and their earlier struggles. A thousand tender and sacred associations
were interwoven, in the mind of each, with the name of the other. When
fortune had smiled, they had delighted in each other's prosperity. In
times of shadow, each had hastened to the other's side. They had
walked together, talked together, laughed together, wept together,
and--very, very often--prayed together. They had been as David and
Jonathan, and the soul of the one was knit to the soul of the other.
Hundreds of times, before the one had come to settle in this new
district, they had walked to the house of God in company. And now a
matter of doctrine had intervened. And, with such men, a matter of
doctrine is a matter of conscience. And a matter of conscience is the
most stubborn of all obstacles to overcome. I looked into their stern,
expressive faces, and I saw that they were no triflers. A fad had no
charm for either of them. They looked into each other's faces, and
each read the truth. The breach was irreparable.

We sat in the great farm kitchen until tea-time. I felt it was no
business of mine to broach the affairs that had brought us. Several
times I thought that Mr. Forbury was about to touch the matter. But
each time it was adroitly avoided, and the conversation swerved off in
another direction. Once or twice I felt half inclined to precipitate a
discussion. Indeed, I was in the act of doing so when our hostess
brought in the tea. A snowy cloth, home-made scones, delicious
oat-cake, abundance of cream--how tempting it all was! And how
unattractive ecclesiastical controversy in comparison! We sat there in
the twilight for what seemed like an age, talking of everything under
the sun. Of everything, that is to say, save one thing only. And
there brooded heavily over our spirits the consciousness that we were
avoiding the one and only subject on which we were all really and
deeply thinking.

After tea came family worship. I was invited to conduct it, and did
so. After reading a psalm from the old farm Bible, we all kneeled
together, the flickering flames of the great log-fire flinging strange
shadows on the whitened wall and rafters as we rose and bowed
ourselves. I caught myself attempting, even in prayer, to make obscure
but fitting reference to the s