The minister covered his face with his hands and shivered, with the cold no doubt; and Daniel and Jessica were leaving the vestry when they were called back by his voice speaking in husky and agitated tones.
“Standring,” he said, “I have something of importance to say to you after the service this evening, so come back here as soon as the congregation is gone. And, Jessica, take care to sit in your own place, where I can see you; for I will preach about Jesus Christ and heaven to-night.”
Jessica answered only by a little nod, and left the vestry by a door which did not open into the chapel. In a minute or two afterwards she was making her way up the crowded aisles to her usual seat at the foot of the pulpit steps, where, with her head thrown back, her face lifted itself up to the minister’s gaze.
She had just time to settle herself and glance at the minister’s children, who were looking out for her, when the last quiet notes of the organ ceased, and the vestry door opened. The minister mounted the stairs slowly, and with his head bent down, but as soon as he was in the pulpit he looked round upon the faces whose eyes were all fastened upon him.
Many of the faces he knew, and had seen thus upraised to him for scores of Sundays, and his eyes passed from one to another swiftly, but with a distinguishing regard of which he had never been conscious before, and their names swept across his memory like sudden flashes of light. There sat his own children, and his eyes rested fondly upon them as they looked up to him; and he smiled tenderly to himself as his glance caught the flushed and fervent face of Jessica.
The sermon he had prepared during the week was one of great research and of studied oratory, which should hold his hearers in strained and breathless attention; but as he bowed down his head in silent supplication for the blessing of God he said to himself, “I will preach to this people from the saying of Christ, ‘He calleth His own sheep by name, and leadeth them out.’”
CHAPTER II.
IT’S ONLY A STROKE.
The first part of the service passed by as usual, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of a silk dress, or the carefully hushed footstep up the aisles of some late comer, and the moment for the prayer before the sermon was come. Every head was bent, and a deep stillness prevailed, which grew more and more profound as the minister’s voice still remained silent, as if he was waiting until there was no stir or rustle or movement to be heard throughout the congregation.