He stopped to get his breath; and the voice had stopped, not as it had done before, when its time was exhausted and all its repetitions said, but with a sobbing catch in the breath as if overruled.  Then the minister spoke again, “Are you hearing me, Will?  Oh, laddie, you’ve liked the beggarly elements all your days.  Be done with them now.  Go home to the Father—­the Father!  Are you hearing me?” Here the old man sank down upon his knees, his face raised upwards, his hands held up with a tremble in them, all white in the light in the midst of the darkness.  I resisted as long as I could, though I cannot tell why; then I, too, dropped upon my knees.  Simson all the time stood in the door-way, with an expression in his face such as words could not tell, his under lip dropped, his eyes wild, staring.  It seemed to be to him, that image of blank ignorance and wonder, that we were praying.  All the time the voice, with a low arrested sobbing, lay just where he was standing, as I thought.

“Lord,” the minister said,—­“Lord, take him into Thy everlasting habitations.  The mother he cries to is with Thee.  Who can open to him but Thee?  Lord, when is it too late for Thee, or what is too hard for Thee?  Lord, let that woman there draw him inower!  Let her draw him inower!”

I sprang forward to catch something in my arms that flung itself wildly within the door.  The illusion was so strong, that I never paused till I felt my forehead graze against the wall and my hands clutch the ground,—­for there was nobody there to save from falling, as in my foolishness I thought.  Simson held out his hand to me to help me up.  He was trembling and cold, his lower lip hanging, his speech almost inarticulate.  “It’s gone,” he said, stammering,—­“it’s gone!” We leaned upon each other for a moment, trembling so much, both of us, that the whole scene trembled as if it were going to dissolve and disappear; and yet as long as I live I will never forget it,—­the shining of the strange lights, the blackness all round, the kneeling figure with all the whiteness of the light concentrated on its white venerable head and uplifted hands.  A strange solemn stillness seemed to close all round us.  By intervals a single syllable, “Lord!  Lord!” came from the old minister’s lips.  He saw none of us, nor thought of us.  I never knew how long we stood, like sentinels guarding him at his prayers, holding our lights in a confused dazed way, not knowing what we did.  But at last he rose from his knees, and standing up at his full height, raised his arms, as the Scotch manner is at the end of a religious service, and solemnly gave the apostolical benediction,—­to what? to the silent earth, the dark woods, the wide breathing atmosphere; for we were but spectators gasping an Amen!