of the decalogue, and the maiden for whose attentions, in his cooler years, he violated the dictates of prudence and propriety.  All this time Byles Gridley had his stern eyes on him.  And while he kindled into passionate eloquence on these inspiring themes, poor Bathsheba, whom her mother had sent to church that she might get a little respite from her home duties, felt her blood growing cold in her veins, as the pallid image of the invalid wife, lying on her bed of suffering, rose in the midst of the glowing pictures which borrowed such warmth from her husband’s imagination.

The sermon, with its hinted application to the event of the past week, was over at last.  The shoulders of the nervous women were twitching with sobs.  The old men were crying in their vacant way.  But all the while the face of Byles Gridley, firm as a rock in the midst of this lachrymal inundation, was kept steadily on the preacher, who had often felt the look that came through the two round glasses searching into the very marrow of his bones.

As the sermon was finished, the sexton marched up through the broad aisle and handed the note over the door of the pulpit to the clergyman, who was wiping his face after the exertion of delivering his discourse.  Mr. Stoker looked at it, started, changed color,—­his vision of “The Dangers of Beauty, a Sermon printed by Request,” had vanished,—­and passed the note to Father Pemberton, who sat by him in the pulpit.  With much pains he deciphered its contents, for his eyes were dim with years, and, having read it, bowed his head upon his hands in silent thanksgiving.  Then he rose in the beauty of his tranquil and noble old age, so touched with the message he had to proclaim to his people, that the three deep furrows on his forehead, which some said he owed to the three dogmas of original sin, predestination, and endless torment, seemed smoothed for the moment, and his face was as that of an angel while he spoke.

“Sisters and Brethren,—­Rejoice with us, for we have found our lamb which had strayed from the fold.  This our daughter was dead and is alive again; she was lost and is found.  Myrtle Hazard, rescued from great peril of the waters, and cared for by good Samaritans, is now in her home.  Thou, O Lord, who didst let the water-flood overflow her, didst not let the deep swallow her up, nor the pit shut its mouth upon her.  Let us return our thanks to the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, who is our God and Father, and who hath wrought this great deliverance.”

After his prayer, which it tried him sorely to utter in unbroken tones, he gave out the hymn,

    “Lord, thou hast heard thy servant cry,
     And rescued from the grave;”

but it was hardly begun when the leading female voice trembled and stopped,—­and another,—­and then a third,—­and Father Pemberton, seeing that they were all overcome, arose and stretched out his arms, and breathed over them his holy benediction.