oel's little finger unhooked itself, but her eyes stole round to young
Morland's eyes, and there was a light in them which lingered through the
singing and the prayers. At last, in the reverential rustle of the
settling congregation, a surpliced figure mounted the pulpit.

"I come not to bring Peace, but a sword."

Pierson looked up. He felt deep restfulness. There was a pleasant light
in this church; the hum of a country bluebottle made all the difference
to the quality of silence. No critical thought stirred within him, nor
any excitement. He was thinking: 'Now I shall hear something for my
good; a fine text; when did I preach from it last?' Turned a little away
from the others, he saw nothing but the preacher's homely face up there
above the carved oak; it was so long since he had been preached to, so
long since he had had a rest! The words came forth, dropped on his
forehead, penetrated, met something which absorbed them, and disappeared.
'A good plain sermon!' he thought. 'I suppose I'm stale; I don't seem--'
"Let us not, dear brethren," droned the preacher's earnest voice, "think
that our dear Lord, in saying that He brought a sword, referred to a
physical sword. It was the sword of the spirit to which He was
undoubtedly referring, that bright sword of the spirit which in all ages
has cleaved its way through the fetters imposed on men themselves by
their own desires, imposed by men on other men in gratification of their
ambitions, as we have had so striking an example in the invasion by our
cruel enemies of a little neighbouring country which had done them no
harm. Dear brethren, we may all bring swords." Pierson's chin jerked; he
raised his hand quickly and passed it over his face. 'All bring swords,'
he thought, 'swords--I wasn't asleep--surely!' "But let us be sure that
our swords are bright; bright with hope, and bright with faith, that we
may see them flashing among the carnal desires of this mortal life,
carving a path for us towards that heavenly kingdom where alone is peace,
perfect peace. Let us pray."

Pierson did not shut his eyes; he opened them as he fell on his knees.
In the seat behind, Noel and young Morland had also fallen on their knees
their faces covered each with a single hand; but her left hand and his
right hung at their sides. They prayed a little longer than any others
and, on rising, sang the hymn a little louder.

3

No paper came on Sundays--not even the local paper,