he
top of the organ, pushing back the stool, twirling its top about--all
the while still quite highly unmindful of the gazes of the audience. The
contralto came last, her brow furrowed with the thought that perhaps she
had not left the cold meat on the table where her husband, the doctor,
would find it when he came back from the country.

Came also in due and proper time the minister of church, the pillar of
it all, bearing in his hand, rolled in its leather case, the sermon
which he had written last Thursday morning--and which perforce he had
been obliged wholly to rewrite since Saturday at noon! For, be sure,
this sermon must take up the issues of the day--must stand for the
weekly platform of the town's morality. The eyes of all now were bent
upon the little roll of leather in the preacher's hand. They knew what
must be there. In a way they moistened their lips. This was why the
attendance was so large and prompt tonight.

But Aurora Lane, unskilled in any of these things, the prey to so many
conflicting emotions at this hour, a novice in the house of God, sat
silent, her hands folded, well enough aware she was not welcomed by
those who saw her there, yet craving of them, dumbly, anguished, all
their tolerance in her time of need.

Now the organ rolled after its fashion. There were voices not too highly
skilled, perhaps, yet after all productive of a certain melody. The
music softened the ice of Aurora Lane's heart. She felt that after all
she was a human being, as these others all about her. Was not this
anthem universal in its wording? Did it not say "Come unto Me"? Did it
not say something about "All ye"?--something about "Whosoever"? And
Aurora Lane, all her life debarred from this manner of human
classification, felt her heart tremble within her bosom as she heard
these universal, all-embracing words. Those about her, righteous,
virtuous, heard them not at all, because they had been sung so oft
before.

The text of the evening matters little. Everyone there, excepting Aurora
Lane, knew that the real text was the red-handed young criminal lying in
the prison.

The preacher invoked the wrath of God upon him who had raised his hand
against the life of one of the town's beloved. He read large lessons as
to right living, educed all proper morals from these events, so
startling, which had come upon this peaceful town. In short, he preached
what manner of sermon he must have preached in this manner of church and