“Some do say he’s been to America and found a gold-mine.”

“Na!  He’s just been journeying around in himself.”

“I am na spekalative.  He’s contentit, and sae am I. It’s a mair natural warld than ye think.”

“Three year syne when he went away, he lookit like ane o’ thae figures o’ tragedy—­”

“Aweel, then, he’s swallowed himself and digested it.”

“I ca’ it fair miracle!  The Lord touched him in the night.”

“Do ye haud that he’ll gang to kirk the morn?”

“I dinna precisely ken.  He micht, and he micht not.”

He went, entering with Mrs. Grizel, Alice, and Strickland, sitting in the House pew.  How many kirks he thought of, sitting there—­what cathedrals, chapels; what rude, earnest places; what temples, mosques, caves, ancient groves; what fanes; what worshiped gods!  One, one!  Temple and image, worshiped and worshiper.  Self helping self.  “O my Self, daily and deeply help myself!”

The little white stone building—­the earnest, strenuous, narrow man in the pulpit, the Scots congregation—­old, old, familiar, with an inner odor not unpungent, not unliked!  Life Everlasting—­Everlasting Life....

“That ye may have life and have it more abundantly.”

White Farm sat in the White Farm place.  Jarvis Barrow was there.  But he did not sit erect as of yore; he leaned upon his staff.  Jenny was missed.  Lame now, she stayed at home and watched the passing, and talked to herself or talked to others.  Gilian sat beside the old man.  Behind were Menie and Merran, Thomas and Willy.  Glenfernie’s eyes dwelt quietly upon Jarvis and his granddaughter.  When he willed he could see Elspeth beside Gilian.

The prayers, the sermon, the hymns....  All through the world-body the straining toward the larger thing, the enveloping Person!  As he sat there he felt blood-warmth, touch, with every foot that sought hold, with every hand that reached.  He saw the backward-falling, and he saw that they did not fall forever, that they caught and held and climbed again.  He saw that because he had done that, time and time again done that.

Mr. M’Nab preached a courageous, if harsh, sermon.  The old words of commination!  They were not empty—­but in among them, fine as ether, now ran a gloss....  The sermon ended, the final psalm was sung.

    “When Zion’s bondage God turned back,
      As men that dreamed were we. 
    Then filled with laughter was our mouth. 
      Our tongue with melody—­”

But the Scots congregation went out, to the eye sober, stern, and staid.  Glenfernie spoke to Jarvis Barrow.  He meant to do no more than give a word of greeting.  But the old man put forth an emaciated hand and held him.

“Is it the auld laird?  My eyes are na gude.—­Eh, laird, I remember the sermons of your grandfather, Gawin Elliot!  Aye, aye! he was a lion against sinners!  I hae seen them cringe!...  It is the auld laird, Gilian?”