moral
discourse--an essay such as Locke or Bacon might have written; save that
he took care to translate it into language suitable to his hearers--the
generality of whom were of the labouring class. Olive liked him for
this, believing she recognised therein the strong sense of duty, the
wish to do good, which overpowered all desire of intellectual display.
And when she had once succeeded in ignoring the fact that his sermon was
of a character more suited to the professor's chair than the pulpit,
she listened with deep interest to his teaching of a lofty, but somewhat
stern morality. Yet, despite his strong, clear arguments, and his
evident earnestness, there was about him a repellent atmosphere,
which prevented her inclining towards _the man_, even while she was
constrained to respect the intellect of the preacher.

Nevertheless, when Mr. Gwynne ended his brief discourse with the usual
prayer, that it might be "grafted inwardly" in his hearers' minds, it
sounded very like a mockery--at least to Olive, who for the moment had
almost forgotten that she was in a church. During the silent pause
of the kneeling congregation, she raised her eyes and looked at the
minister. He, too, knelt like the rest, with covered face, but his
hands were not folded in prayer--they were clenched like those of a
man writhing under some strong and secret agony; and when he lifted his
head, his rigid features were more rigid than ever. The organ awoke,
pealing forth Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus," and still the pastor sat
motionless in his pulpit, his stern face showing white in the sunshine.
The heavenly music rolled round him its angelic waves--they never
touched his soul. Beneath, his simple congregation passed out,
exchanging with one another demure Sunday greetings, and kindly Sunday
smiles; he saw them not. He sat alone, like one who has no sympathy
either with heaven or earth.

But there watched him from the hidden corner eyes he knew not of--the
wondering, half-pitying eyes of Olive Rothesay. And while she gazed,
there came into her heart--involuntarily, as if whispered by an unseen
angel at her side--the words from the Litany--words which he himself had
coldly read an hoar before:--

"_That it may please Thee to lead into the way of truth all such as have
erred and are deceived. We beseech Thee to hear us, O Lord!_"

Scarcely conscious was she why she thus felt, or for whom she prayed;
but, years after, it seemed to her that there ha