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One week later, Mr. Pursly again sat in his study, looking at Brother Joash, who had a second time settled himself in the dark corner.
It had been a terrible week for Mr. Pursly. He and his conscience, and his dream of the Parish House, had been shut up together working over that sermon, and waging a war of compromises. The casualties in this war were all on the side of the conscience.
“Read it!” commanded Brother Joash. The minister grew pale. This was more than he had expected. He grew pale and then red and then pale again.
“Go ahead!” said Brother Joash.
“Brethren,” began Mr. Pursly, and then he stopped short. His pulpit voice sounded strange in his little study.
“Go ahead!” said Brother Joash.
“We are gathered together here to-day to pay a last tribute of respect and affection—“
“Clk!” There was a sound like the report of a small pistol. Mr. Pursly looked up. Brother Joash regarded him with stern intentness.