and bringing up his guns under cover of a pleasant disavowal to which the
three Dissenters responded with "Hear, hear!" John Rosewarne listened not
at all, nor to the fence of debate that followed as Church and Dissent
grew heated and their friction struck out the familiar sparks--
'sectarian,' 'undoctrinal,' 'arrogance,' 'broad-mindedness.' At length
came the equally familiar pause, when the exhausted combatants turned by
consent and waited on their chairman. He sat tapping his fingers upon the
polished mahogany, watching the reflected candle-lights along its surface,
wondering when these fretful voices would cease, these warring atoms
release him to obey the summons of his soul--still incomprehensible, still
urgent.

Their sudden hush recalled him with a start. He had heard nothing of
their debate. Slowly he lifted his eyes and let them rest upon Mr. Benny,
who sat on his right, patiently waiting to take down the next entry for
the minutes.

"If you will trust me," he said, "I can find you a teacher--a woman--whom
you will all accept."

He had spoken without premeditation, and paused now, doubtful of the sound
of his own voice. The five Managers were looking at him with respectful
attention. Apparently, then, he was speaking sense; and he spoke on,
still wondering by what will (not his own) the words came.

"If you leave her and the children alone, I think her religion will not
trouble you. She is accustomed to boys, and teaches them to be honourable
to one another and gentle to their sisters."

He paused again and drummed with his fingers on the table. He heard the
voices break out again, and gathered that the majority assented.
Mechanically he put the resolution, declared it carried, and closed the
meeting; as mechanically he shook hands with all the Managers and wished
them good-night. "And on your way, Benny, you may tell the maids they may
go to bed. I'll blow out the candles myself."

When all had taken their leave he sat for a while, still staring at the
reflected lights along the board. Then he arose and passed into his
counting-house, where an oil lamp burned upon his writing-table.

He took pen and paper and wrote, addressed the letter, sealed it
carefully, and leaned back in his chair, studying the address.

"There is to-morrow," he muttered. "I can reconsider it before post-time
to-morrow."

But the restlessness had vanished and left in its stead a deep peace.
If Death waited for hi