e people?" Then there was a
stillness in the room, and the Rabbi, although he had closed his eyes,
was conscious of the amazement on the young man's face.

"Do you mean to say," speaking very slowly, as one taken utterly aback,
"that our Rabbi would come to my . . . to the Sacrament and hear me
preach, and . . . report me for heresy to the Presbytery? Rabbi, I
know we don't agree about some things, and perhaps I was a little . . .
annoyed a few minutes ago because you . . . know far more than I do,
but that is nothing. For you to prosecute one of your boys and be the
witness yourself. . . . Rabbi, you can't mean it . . . say it's a
mistake."

The old man only gave a deep sigh.

"If it were Dowbiggin or . . . any man except you, I wouldn't care one
straw, rather enjoy the debate, but you whom we have loved and looked
up to and boasted about, why, it's like . . . a father turning against
his sons."

The Rabbi made no sign.

"You live too much alone, Rabbi," and Carmichael began again as the
sense of the tragedy grew on him, "and nurse your conscience till it
gets over tender; no other man would dream of . . . prosecuting a . . .
fellow-minister in such circumstances. You have spoken to me like a
father, surely that is enough"; and in his honest heat the young fellow
knelt down by the Rabbi's chair and took his hand.

[Illustration: "YOU HAVE SPOKEN TO ME LIKE A FATHER: SURELY THAT IS
ENOUGH."]

A tear rolled down the Rabbi's cheek, and he looked fondly at the lad.

"Your words pierce me as sharp swords, John; spare me, for I can do
none otherwise; all night I wrestled for release, but in vain."

Carmichael had a sudden revulsion of feeling, such as befalls emotional
and ill-disciplined natures when they are disappointed and mortified.

"Very good, Doctor Saunderson"--Carmichael rose awkwardly and stood on
the hearthrug again, an elbow on the mantelpiece--"you must do as you
please and as you think right. I am sorry that I . . . pressed you so
far, but it was on grounds of our . . . friendship.

"Perhaps you will tell me as soon as you can what you propose to do,
and when you will bring . . . this matter before the Presbytery. My
sermon was fully written and . . . is at your disposal."

While this cold rain beat on the Rabbi's head he moved not, but at its
close he looked at Carmichael with the appeal of a dumb animal in his
eyes.

"The first meeting of Presbytery is on Monday, but you would no doubt