"Well," he continued, "as we always perform our painful, most painful duties, we are here to-night. We are here to-night, Mr. Moderator, to consider the spiritual welfare of the church, and of one especial soul connected with the church. This soul is—is far from grace; it is in a lost condition; a stranger to God, an alien from the commonwealth of Israel. But that is not all. No. It is—ah—spreading its own disease of sin in the vitals of the church. It is not only going down to hell itself, but it is dragging others along with it. It is to consider the welfare of that soul, Brother Ward, that this Session has been convened. It is a very difficult task which is set before us, but we are sustained by duty,—by duty, sir! We will not have to reproach ourselves for neglect of an immortal soul. We wish to summon"—
"Do you refer," said John Ward, rising, his hands clenched upon the pulpit rail, his face rigid and his teeth set,—"do you refer to my wife?"
The three men on the bench started as though they had received a galvanic shock. Elder Dean, with his lips parted, looked at his minister in silence.
"Answer me," said John Ward.
"Mr. Moderator," replied the elder in a quavering voice, "if I do refer to your wife, that is not the way it is to be considered. I refer to a sin-sick soul. I refer to a—a cause of falling from grace, in this church. I refer to a poor neglected sinner, who must be saved; yes, sir, saved. If she happens to be your wife, I—I—am sorry."
The room was very silent. The flaring lamps shone on the bare, whitewashed walls and on the shamed faces of the four men; the shadows in the corners pressed upon the small centre of light. One of the lamps smoked, and Mr. Bent rose to turn it down, and a deeper gloom settled upon the group. Mr. Johnson nervously opened a hymn-book, and began to turn the pages. For a moment the rustle of the paper was the only sound that broke the quiet.
John Ward, appalled and angry, humiliated that his most sacred grief was dragged from his heart to be gazed at and discussed by these men, was yet silenced by his accusing conscience.
"There is no need," he said at last, with painful slowness, and breathing hard, "to bring this matter before the Session. As preacher of this church, I prefer to deal with that soul according to the wisdom God gives me. I neither ask nor desire your advice."
Elder Dean turned to his companions, and raised his hands slightly. Mr. Smith responded to his look by rising and saying, still gazing fixedly upon the floor, "This ain't the way, Brother Ward, to consider this matter. Your wisdom ain't enough, seein' that it has allowed things to get to this pass. All we desire is to deal with Mrs. Ward for her own good. Brother Dean speaks of the evil in the church,—ain't it our duty to check that? It appears, sir, that, preacher of this church or not, you've allowed her sin of unbelief to remain unreproved, and the consequence is its spread in the church: that's what we're responsible for; that's our duty. If you've neglected your duty, we ain't a-goin' to neglect ours." He wagged his head emphatically, and then sat down.
John Ward was too entirely without self-consciousness to feel the change in the tone of these men. Their old sincerely felt admiration and awe of their preacher was gone. The moment they became his critics, they ceased to feel his superiority. Disapproval was power, and their freedom from the trammels of respect made them cruel. But the outcry of John's conscience made him deaf to smaller things. He sat bending forward, his hands locked together, and the vein in his forehead standing out like whip-cord; his lips were white and compressed.