After a day of great depression, partly due to the marriage preparations and gloomy atmospheric conditions, but mainly, no doubt, to his wretched spiritual state, he went one evening to a session at the Church of the Disciples. He wondered at himself for going and his elders and deacons wondered at his presence. He was lost in thought, took no interest in the financial report of the treasurer, and left the meeting before it closed. "The Minister was not heeding whether the Church was in good financial standing or not," said Deacon Crawford, "and I never saw such a look on any man's face. It comes back, and back, into my mind." "Ay," answered another deacon, "and did you notice his brows? They were sorely vexed and troubled. And the eyes that had to live under them! They gave you a heartache if he but cast them on you." "We'll be having a great sermon come the Sabbath Day, no doubt," said the leading Elder; "and, the finances being in such good shape, what think you if we give the Minister's daughter a handsome bridal gift?" "It isn't an ordinary thing to do, Elder." "The Minister is getting a very good salary." "He is an uncommonly proud man, too." "And his daughter is marrying a lord." "Well," answered the proposer of the gift, "there's plenty of time to think the matter over," and all readily agreed to this wise delay. Though the Minister had left the session early, it was late when he reached home, weary and hungry, and glad of Mrs. Caird's kind words and plate of cold beef and bread. "Where on earth have you been, Ian?" she asked. "Do you know it is past eleven?" "I have been going up and down and to and fro in the city, watching the unceasing march of the armies of labor. The crowd never rested. When the day workers stopped the night workers began--weary, joyless men. It was awful, Jessy." "I know," said Mrs. Caird, "it is 'All Life moving to one measure, Daily bread! Daily bread! Bread of Life, and bread of Labor, Bread of bitterness and sorrow, Hand to mouth, and no to-morrow.' Good night, Ian. Go to sleep as soon as you can." How soon he kept this promise he never could remember; he only knew that when he awakened he was drenched with the sweat of terror and trembling from head to feet. "Who am I? Where am I?" he asked, as he fumbled with the Venetian blind until it somehow went up and let in the early dawning. Then he noticed the dripping condition of his night clothing, and he hurried to his bed and cried out in a low, shocked voice, "_The sheets are wet! The pillow is wet!_ What can it mean? What has happened? _Oh, I remember!_" And he covered his face with his hands and his very soul shuddered within him.