o speak
professionally. But he always made an impression of goodness and
sincerity. On this last Sunday evening he preached again the first
sermon he had ever preached from that pulpit, fresh from the honeymoon
with his young wife. "Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one
of these." It lacked now the happy fervour of that most happy of all
his days, yet gained poignancy, coming from so worn a face and voice.
Gratian, who knew that he was going to end with his farewell, was in
a choke of emotion long before he came to it. She sat winking away her
tears, and not till he paused, for so long that she thought his strength
had failed, did she look up. He was leaning a little forward, seeming to
see nothing; but his hands, grasping the pulpit's edge, were quivering.
There was deep silence in the Church, for the look of his face and
figure was strange, even to Gratian. When his lips parted again to
speak, a mist covered her eyes, and she lost sight of him.

"Friends, I am leaving you; these are the last words I shall ever speak
in this place. I go to other work. You have been very good to me. God
has been very good to me. I pray with my whole heart that He may bless
you all. Amen! Amen!"

The mist cleared into tears, and she could see him again gazing down at
her. Was it at her? He was surely seeing something--some vision sweeter
than reality, something he loved more dearly. She fell on her knees, and
buried her face in her hand. All through the hymn she knelt, and
through his clear slow Benediction: "The peace of God, which passeth all
understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love
of God, and of his Son Jesus Christ our Lord; and the blessing of God
Almighty, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be amongst you and
remain with you always." And still she knelt on; till she was alone in
the Church. Then she rose and stole home. He did not come in; she did
not expect him. 'It's over,' she kept thinking; 'all over. My beloved
Daddy! Now he has no home; Nollie and I have pulled him down. And yet I
couldn't help it, and perhaps she couldn't. Poor Nollie!...'

2

Pierson had stayed in the vestry, talking with his choir and wardens;
there was no hitch, for his resignation had been accepted, and he had
arranged with a friend to carry on till the new Vicar was appointed.
When they were gone he went back into the empty Church, and mounted to
the organ-loft. A little window up there was open, and h