Meantime, Margaret nestled again within the old tender place and we both struggled to nourish our phantom joy. Counterfeit though we both discerned it, yet it passed unchallenged between us and at least kept our souls' commerce from decay. Counterfeit I have called it, for the tenure of another's love was upon her; and her stay with us was like that of a sailor lad who is for a time ashore, waiting for the tardy tide.
The ordination Sabbath was aglow with holy light. God surely loves Presbyterian high days, for they are nearly always beautiful. St. Cuthbert's was filled long before eleven with a reverent and expectant congregation. Five new elders had been elected, three of them their father's successors, for this was a common custom in New Jedboro, and apostolic succession in disguise was in high favour amongst us. Another was a man of seventy or more, for every ordination must recognize the stalwarts whose days of activity were past but whose time for honour was at hand. The remaining elder-elect was Angus Strachan. His choice by the congregation had been unanimous and cordial. His examination by the Session had resulted in hearty confirmation. Our manse tragedy was unknown to any of the elders except Mr. Blake, who preserved complete silence throughout the interview. The ordeal was painful beyond words to me—but it was over, and Angus sat in the front pew with the other four, awaiting ordination to their sacred office.
We had sung the psalm which from time immemorial Presbyterian ministers have announced on all ecclesiastical occasions, the hundred and second psalm, the second version, from the thirteenth verse, reading over again, as their habit is, the first two lines:
"Thou shalt arise and mercy yet
Thou to Mount Zion shalt extend;"
the venerable Dr. Inglis of Moffat had preached the sermon from the text:—"Feed the flock of God which is among you," and the elders elect took their places before the pulpit.
I addressed them in what I considered fitting terms, recalling the great traditions of the church they were called to serve and the noble labours of the godly men whose mantles had now fallen upon themselves. I referred to our precious legacy, bequeathed to us from the hands of Covenanters, and a reverent hush throughout the whole congregation applauded the names of Renwick and Peden and Cameron, as they fell from my lips.
Then all the elders took their places beside me, for the act of ordination was about to be performed. This consisted of prayer and the laying on of hands—not of the minister's hands alone, for we in St. Cuthbert's adhered to the ancient Scottish mode of ordination by the laying on of the hands of the entire Session.
The candidates kneeled before us, Angus on my right, having changed his place for some unapparent reason, soon to be abundantly revealed. The hands first outstretched towards his bended head were those of Mr. Blake. Whereupon an awful thing befell us; for the solemn stillness of the kirk was broken by the ringing of a voice aflame with passion:—"Take back your hand—touch not a hair of my head. Go cleanse your hand. Go purify your heart—they are both polluted. Whited sepulchre, give up your dead—let the rotting memories walk forth. Go wash another's blood from your guilty soul before you dare to serve at God's altar!"
The trembling object of this outburst shrank back from before it. The kneeling candidates bowed lower. I myself stood as one in a fearful dream, while the horror-stricken people half rose within their pews, bending forward as they gazed at the sacrilegious scene.