"I am now bidding farewell--bidding farewell forever--to you, and not only to you, but to all the innocent pleasures and happy labors of the past. For me there is no birthday of Christ--no farewell supper in the upper chamber--no flowery Easter morning. I dare not even think of that sacred ghost story in the garden, for, if the stone was not rolled away from the grave of Christ, it lies on every grave that has been dug since the creation. And if there is no resurrection of the body--there is no Life Eternal--_there is no God_!" His voice had sunk at the last few words, but it was poignantly audible. A long, shuddering wail filled the church, and the women's cries and the men's mutterings and movements were sharply distinct. Then the Senior Elder looked expressively at the precentor, and he instantly raised the hymn known to every church-going Scot: "O God of Bethel, by whose hand Thy people still are fed, Who through this weary wilderness Hast all our fathers led." The first line was lifted heartily by the congregation; they evidently felt it to be a proclamation of their Faith, but the melody quickly began to scatter and cease, and before the first four lines were sung it had practically ceased. Everyone, with movements of shock or sorrow, was watching the Minister, who was slowly removing from his shoulders the vestment of his office. In a few moments he had laid it slowly and carefully over the front of the pulpit. Then he turned to the stairs, and he remembered his dream and was afraid of them. What if there should be only _one_ step to the floor below? The descent seemed steep and dark. He kept his hand on the railing of the balusters, and the cries of hysterical women and movements and mutterings of angry men filled his ears. It was growing dark. He felt that he was losing consciousness. Then a large, strong hand was stretched up to him, and, grasping it gratefully, he reached the ground in safety. And when he looked into his helper's face he said with wonder, "Uncle! You?" [Illustration: "The descent seemed steep and dark"] "Just me, laddie. Keep your heart and head up. Come what will, you've done what's right. Put your arm through mine. We will take this walk together." So arm in arm down the long aisle they went, and the Major said afterward, "It was a worse walk than any down a red lane on a battlefield." The women mostly covered their faces and wept. Many of the men were standing up, angry and offensive in word and manner, but sure that their attitude was well pleasing to God and to the Kirk He loved. The Major's carriage was standing at the curbstone, and, without delay, yet also without hurry, they took it and went together to Dr. Macrae's home. Being Sunday morning, the streets were nearly empty, and the drive, as became the day, was slow and silent. But Ian's hand was clasped in his uncle's hand, and words were not necessary.