, Bishop, there is so much in your way of preaching. It has
that kind of good comradeship which I think was so remarkable in
Christ. His style was not the ten commandments' style--thou shalt and
thou shalt not--but that reasoning, brotherly way of 'What man is
there among you that would not do the kind and right thing?' You used
it this very morning when you cried out, 'If our dear England needed
your help to save her Liberty and Life, what man is there among you
that would not rise up like lions to save her?' And the men could
hardly sit still. It was so real, so brotherly, so unlike preaching."

"Conall, nothing is so wonderful and beautiful in Christ's life as its
almost incredible approachableness."

This sermon had been preached on the Sabbath morning and it
spiritualized the whole day. Ian's singing also had proved a wonderful
service, for when the young men of that day became old men, they could
be heard leading their crews in the melodious, longing strains of 'O
for the Wings of a Dove,' as they sat casting their lines into the
restless water.

In the evening a cold, northwesterly wind sprang up and Thora and Ian
retreated to the parlour, where a good fire had been built; but the
Bishop and Ragnor and Rahal drew closer round the hearth in the living
room and talked, and were silent, as their hearts moved them. Rahal
had little to say. She was thinking of Ian and of the new life he was
going to, and of the long, lonely days that might be the fate of
Thora. "The woeful laddie!" she whispered, "he has had but small
chances of any kind. What can a lad do for himself and no mother able
to help him!"

The Bishop heard or divined her last words and he said, "Be content,
Rahal. Not one, but many lives we hold, and our hail to every new work
we begin is our farewell to the old work. Ian is going to give a
Future to his Past."

"I fear, Bishop----"

"Fear is from the earthward side, Rahal. Above the clouds of Fear,
there is the certain knowledge of Heaven. Fear is nothing, Faith is
everything!"

CHAPTER X

THE ONE REMAINS, THE MANY CHANGE AND PASS

You Scotsmen are a pertinacious brood;
Fitly you wear the thistle in your cap,
As in your grim theology.
O we're not all so fierce! God knows you'll find,
Well-combed and smooth-licked gentlemen enough,
Who will rejoice with you
To sneer at Calvin's close-wedged creed.
--BLACKIE.

Sow not in Sorrow,