David had heard so much of Methodists that he had expected noisy demonstrations and great exhibitions of emotion. He had found enthusiastic singing and hearty responses of amen during the prayers; but while the prevailing spirit seemed one of intense earnestness, it had the depth and quiet of some great, resistless under-current. He slipped out of the room after the benediction, fearful of meeting curious glances. A member of the reception committee managed to shake hands with him, but his friends had not discovered his attendance. Two things followed him persistently. The expression of Dr. Bascom's face, and Hewson Raleigh's emphatic "I know." He took the last train out to Hillhollow, wishing he had staid away from the League meeting. It haunted him, and made him uncomfortable. He walked the floor until long after midnight. Even sleep brought him no rest, for in his dreams he was still groping blindly in the dark for something--he knew not what--but something wise men had found long years ago in a starlit manger, earth's "Herzenruhe." CHAPTER XV. ON CHRISTMAS EVE. IT was Christmas eve, and nearing the time for Bethany to leave the office. She stood, with her wraps on, by one of the windows, waiting for Mr. Edmunds to come back. She had a message to deliver before she could leave, and she expected him momentarily. In the street below people were hurrying by with their arms full of bundles. She was impatient to be gone, too. There were a great many finishing touches for her to give the tall tree in the drawing-room at home. She had worked till the last moment at noon, and locked the door regretfully on the gayly-decked room, with its mingled odors of pine boughs and oranges, always so suggestive of Christmas festivities. While she stood there, she heard steps in the hall. "O, I thought you were Mr. Edmunds," she exclaimed, as David entered. It was the first time he had been at the office that day. "I have a message for him. Have you seen him anywhere?" "No," answered David. "I have just come in from Hillhollow. Marta has telegraphed that she is coming home on the night train, so I shall not be able to accept Jack's invitation. She had not expected to come at all during the holidays; but one of the teachers was called home, and she could not resist the temptation to accompany her, although she can only stay until the end of the week." As Bethany expressed her regrets at Jack's disappointment, David picked up a small package that lay on his desk. "O, the expressman left that for you a little while ago," she said. "Your Christmas is beginning early." She turned again to the window, peering out through the dusk, while David lighted the gas-jet over his desk, and proceeded to open the package. It occurred to her that here was a time, while all the world was turning towards the Messiah on this anniversary eve of his coming, that she might venture to speak of him. Before she could decide just how to begin, David spoke to her: