in the assembly who was not tinged with the
superstition of the age; and all listened, not lightly or sceptically,
but in awe, as if it brought them to the threshold of the
supernatural.

When the narration was ended, the chairman requested him to retire,
pending the decision of the council; but first he was asked,--

"Are you willing to abide by the decision of this council, whatever it
may be?"

He raised his head confidently, and his reply came frank and
fearless.

"I shall respect the opinions of my brethren, no matter how they may
decide; but I shall abide by the will of God and my own convictions of
duty."

The grave Puritan bent his head, half in acknowledgment of the reply,
half in involuntary admiration of its brave manhood; then Cecil left
the room, the silent, watchful crowd that filled the aisles parting
respectfully to let him pass.

"Now, brethren," said the chairman, "the matter is before you. Let us
hear from each his judgment upon it."

Solemn and weighty were the opinions delivered. One brother thought
that Mr. Grey had plenty of work to do at home without going off on a
wild-goose chase after the heathen folk of the wilderness. His church
needed him; to leave it thus would be a shameful neglect of duty.

Another thought that the Indians were descendants of the ten lost
tribes of Israel, and as such should be left in the hands of God. To
attempt to evangelize them was to fly in the face of Providence.

Another thought the same; but then, how about that vision of Mr.
Grey? He couldn't get around that vision.

"I don't know, brethren, I don't know!" he concluded, shaking his
head.

Still another declared positively for Mr. Grey. The good people of the
colonies owed it to the savages to do something for their religious
enlightenment. It was wrong that so little had been done. They had
taken their land from them, they had pushed them back into the wilds
at the point of the sword; now let them try to save their souls. This
man had been plainly called of God to be an apostle to the Indians;
the least that they could do was to bid him Godspeed and let him go.

So it went on. At length the venerable chairman, who had twice turned
the hour-glass upon the table before him, rose to close the
discussion. His speech was a singular mixture of shrewdness,
benevolence, and superstition.

He said that, as Christians, they certainly owed a duty to the
Indians,--a duty that had not been performed. Mr. G