He sat down.  There was silence for a moment and then a buzz of whispering.  Captain Eben, who had heard him with a face of iron hardness, rapped the table.

“We will sing in closin’,” he said, “the forty-second hymn.  After which the benediction will be pronounced.”

The Regular minister left the Come-Outers’ meeting with the unpleasant conviction that he had blundered badly.  His visit, instead of tending toward better understanding and more cordial relationship, had been regarded as an intrusion.  He had been provoked into a public justification, and now he was quite sure that he would have been more politic to remain silent.  He realized that the evening’s performance would cause a sensation and be talked about all over town.  The Come-Outers would glory in their leader’s denunciation of him, and his own people would perhaps feel that it served him right.  If he had only told Mrs. Coffin of what he intended to do.  Yet he had not told her because he meant to do it anyhow.  Altogether it was a rather humiliating business.

So that old bigot was the Van Horne girl’s “uncle.”  It hardly seemed possible that she, who appeared so refined and ladylike when he met her at the parsonage, should be a member of that curious company.  When he rose to speak he had seen her in the front row, beside the thin, middle-aged female who had entered the chapel with Captain Hammond and with her.  She was looking at him intently.  The lamp over the speaker’s table had shone full on her face and the picture remained in his memory.  He saw her eyes and the wavy shadows of her hair on her forehead.

He stepped off the platform, across the road, out of the way of homeward-bound Come-Outers, and stood there, thinking.  The fog was as heavy and wet as ever; in fact, it was almost a rain.  The wind was blowing hard from the northwest.  The congregation dispersed in chattering groups, their lanterns dipping and swinging like fireflies.  The chatter dealt entirely with one subject—­himself.  He heard his name mentioned at least twenty times.  Out of the gusty, dripping blackness came Mr. Badger’s voice.

“By time!” crowed Josiah, “he was took down a few p-p-pup-pegs, wa’n’t he!  My! how Eben did g-gi-gi-give it to him.  He looked toler’ble white under the gills when he riz up to heave out his s-s-sus-sassy talk.  And foolish, too.  I cal’late I won’t be the only town fuf-fuf-fool from now on.  He! he!”

The noises died away in the distance.  Within the chapel the tramp of heavy boots sounded as the lights were blown out, one by one.  The minister frowned, sighed, and turned homeward.  It is not pleasant to be called a fool, even by a recognized member of the fraternity.

He had taken but a few steps when there was a rustle in the wet grass behind him.

“Mr. Ellery,” whispered a voice, “Mr. Ellery, may I speak to you just a moment?”

He wheeled in surprise.

“Why! why, Miss Van Horne!” he exclaimed.  “Is it you?”