"I suppose he was; but what is the use of bothering about it? The thing's over--" He glanced at the grave as he spoke, and looked back at his brother almost impatiently. "Oh! for God's sake, Morris, let her be--I dare say it--it was a sort of mistake--he mayn't have meant--but anyhow, the thing's done with! "Done!" echoed Morris; "how can it be done without repentance?" Mervyn's handsome eyes narrowed, his lip set. "And how do you know he doesn't repent? If the--the baby had lived it might have been worth while; but now--" he smiled suddenly. "Don't worry any more about it, there's a good chap. Mother will be waiting tea for us, and you have all those envelopes to send round this evening." Morris Pugh winced under the reminder. Yes! tomorrow was Collection Sunday, and each household of the faith must be provided with an envelope addressed to it in which the offering must be enclosed, thus enabling those in authority to trace home any inadequate donation. Oh! would the time never come to the Church of Christ when the Elect would need no such precautions against cheating their God? For that was what it meant. His whole soul sickened as he thought of how each one of his flock would weigh the balance between this world and the next. And yet a good collection was the vivifier of spiritual life. Without it, how could extra preachers be paid for, and the religio-social work of the community be kept up? It was late ere all the arrangements for the morrow, including a reception and prayer-meeting in honour of the Reverend Hwfa Morgan, who was to conduct the morning service, were over; but even then Morris Pugh had not finished his work. That was to wrestle through the night in prayer for Divine Guidance, for Divine Help. And all the while the slow, certain stars wheeled in their appointed courses to meet the dawn, the dawn that came true to its appointed time.