Like the rest of those who came under Miss Singleton's influence, Blair soon caught her enthusiasm. He threw himself heart and soul into the work of evangelising Coaltown, visiting the houses of the poor miners, talking with them in a brotherly way, listening to their troubles and ailments, and helping them to help themselves. There were many experiences which filled his senses with disgust, and even sickened his very soul. But there were also many surprising results which amply atoned for all his pain. What sight could be more pleasing than to see a ragged and red-faced drunkard gradually being transformed into a well-clad and intelligent man; and what sound could be more delightful than to hear the thanks of a wife and children for a husband and father reclaimed, and a home made happy?
But the most gratifying circumstance was a change in his own nature, which may seem almost miraculous, but which has happened to others, and which can easily be explained. This new evangelising work actually remedied the defects of his theological training; and "the Back Raw" of Coaltown became a school of eloquence, and did for him what the University and Divinity Hall had been unable to do. The intimate knowledge which he there acquired of human nature filled his heart with a fuller sympathy; and this fuller sympathy let loose his power of utterance. Out of the abundance of his heart his mouth spoke. He was so eager to supply comfort and guidance that he gave no thought to his language, and his language came readily of its own accord. In preparing his Sunday discourses, there was no longer any need of slavishly writing them down and committing every word. All he had to do was to think out the subject, to arrange the details, and to trust to the inspiration of the moment for the language. The consequence was, that he drew large audiences, that his fame as a preacher soon spread abroad, and that, when he least expected such a thing, he received a call from a large dissenting congregation in the town of Easterton.
Though this call gratified him exceedingly for several reasons, and chiefly because it vindicated his character as a preacher, and took him out of the black list of stickit ministers, yet he hesitated before he accepted it. He found himself bound to Coaltown by a feeling almost stronger than life itself. In spite of its dismalness and poverty, it had become to him an enchanted ground. There was a presence which brightened the landscape; there was a voice which diffused a holy calm through the air; and this presence and this voice belonged to Miss Singleton. She was the daybreak that had arisen upon his night of despondency, and had filled the world with light and melody; and to part from her was to go back into darkness again. And when he spoke about his dilemma to herself, he found that she was just as much affected as he was. With tears in her eyes, she confessed that she would miss him very much.
However, just when he was on the point of asking why they should part, and why they should not continue to work together as husband and wife, she rallied both herself and him to a sense of duty. This call, she said, had brought a great opportunity of applying the system to the degraded classes of a large town, which might never occur again. It was an epoch in his life: it might be an epoch in the history of Christianity. He must, therefore, throw all other considerations aside, and accept it. Meanwhile at least, they must deny themselves all other pleasures. Self-denial was necessary to their spiritual life. It was the manna which kept them alive in this wilderness of a world.
Malcolm Blair, accordingly, had no other alternative than to accept the call; and at the end of a few weeks had to tear himself away from Coaltown. His only consolation (and it was a great one, filling his soul with the highest hopes) was that Miss Singleton had shown that she was most tenderly attached to him.
The 27th of April was set apart for his ordination by the Presbytery in the dissenting church of Easterton. It was a day that was doomed to be memorable to him for ever. At the beginning of the ceremony he was in a melancholy mood. He had been overworking himself, had fainted more than once, and felt weak and nervous. As he sat under the pulpit, looking out upon the crowded pews, he saw nothing in the faces of his new congregation save staring curiosity; and away to the right was a dark countenance full of settled hate. He knew who it was. It was the Rev. Ewan Murdoch, who had been his fellow-student at St Andrews, and had been known as "Dark Murdoch," and who had been one of the unsuccessful candidates for the pulpit of the present congregation.
"If I have a mortal enemy," said the new minister to himself, "there he sits, one of those wretched beings who look upon the success of a fellow-creature as an unpardonable injury."
Towards the conclusion of the service, however, Malcolm passed into a better mood. The preacher's sermon on the text, "Fellow-workers with God," spoke words of encouragement that went to his heart. The first line of the concluding psalm was, "Unto the upright light doth rise," and no sooner was it read than an outburst of sunshine flooded the building. Then, when the congregation in a long line passed before him to give him the right hand of fellowship, there was warmth in every smile and in every grip. And amongst them, what should he see but the face of Miss Singleton! He was so delighted that he compared her to an angel bringing with her the atmosphere of heaven.
"Miss Smeaton and I," said she, "came this morning. We must make some calls in the town, and then we shall drop in at the manse to have a cup of tea and a long chat."
He left the church full of hope and happiness. As he walked up the High Street, it was with a springy step, so that the gossips standing on the stairheads remarked what a pleasant-looking, active man he was. And when he entered the manse garden at Highfield, he thought that he had never seen a more charming place. The house stood on a site commanding an extensive view of the Firth of Forth, with the castle and spires of Edinburgh distinct against the horizon; and the garden in front, with its green gooseberry bushes and apple trees, sloped towards the sunny south. There, too, in the doorway of his new abode, stood his mother, now in widow's weeds, who had brought herself and her furniture to make a home for him. Truly he thought, "the lines had fallen to him in pleasant places." And after a comfortable lunch, they had a long confidential talk, in which he told about Miss Singleton's intended visit, and gave a glowing account of Miss Singleton herself, and hinted that he intended to ask her to be his wife.