aughter was in every mouth, and in some measure he would be held
responsible for her sin. Was not Eli punished for his son's
transgressions? The duty before him was a terrible one. It made his
brown face blanch and his strong, stern mouth quiver with mental
anguish.

But he laid the plan on the table and crossed out carefully all the
figures which represented John Penelles. Then he wrote a few lines to
the superintendent and enclosed his self-degradation. Joan wondered
what he would do about the St. Clair appointment, for he had asked no
one to take his place, and early in the afternoon he told her to get
the lantern ready, as he was going there. She divined what he purposed
to do, and she refused to go with him. He did not oppose her decision;
perhaps he was glad she felt able to spare herself and him the extra
humiliation.

Never had the little chapel been so crowded. All his mates from the
neighbouring villages were present; for everyone had some share of
that itching curiosity that likes to see how a soul suffers. A few of
the leaders spoke to him; a great many appeared to be lost in those
divine meditations suitable to the house of worship. John's first
action awakened everyone present to a sense of something unusual. He
refused to ascend the pulpit. He passed within the rails that enclosed
the narrow sacred spot below the pulpit, drew the small table forward,
and, without the preface of hymn or prayer, plunged at once into his
own confession of unworthiness to minister to them. He read aloud the
letter which he had received from his daughter, and averred his belief
in its truthfulness. He told, with the minutest veracity, every word
of his quarrel with Jacob Trenager. He confessed his shameful and
violent temper in his own home; his hatred and his desire and purposes
of revenge; and he asked the pardon of Trenager and of every member of
the church which had been scandalized by the action of his daughter
and by his own sinfulness.

His voice, sad and visibly restrained by a powerful will, throbbed
with the burning emotions which made the man quiver from head to feet.
It was impossible not to feel something of the anguish that looked out
of his large patient eyes and trembled on his lips. Women began to sob
hysterically, men bent their heads low or covered their faces with
their hands; an irresistible wave of sorrow and sympathy was carrying
every soul with it.

But, even while John was speaking, a man rose and