It was then Friday, and Wednesday came inexorably and swiftly. David tried in every way to prepare himself, but no strength came from his efforts. Prayer, nor meditation, nor long memories of the past, nor hopes for the future, had any potency. He was stupefied by the thing demanded of him, and the simple, vivid cry which always brings help had not yet been forced from his lips. But at the last moment it came. Then the coldness and dumbness and wretched inertness that had bound him, body and soul, were gone. When he saw Matilda Sabiston enter the kirk, her eyes gleaming and her face eager with evil expectations, he felt the wondrous words of David[3] burning in his heart and on his lips, and he was no longer afraid. Psalm after psalm went singing through his soul, and he said joyfully to himself, "Sometimes God is long in coming, but he is _never too late_." The minister did not ascend the pulpit. He stood at the table, and after a prayer and a hymn he said: "We have come together this afternoon to hear what David Borson has to say in regard to the charge which Matilda Sabiston has made for twenty-six years against his father Liot Borson." "That question was decided long ago," said an old man, rising slowly. "I heard Minister Ridlon give verdict concerning it at the funeral of Liot's wife." "It was _not_ decided," cried Matilda, standing up, and turning her face to the congregation. "Liot Borson found it easy to lie at his wife's coffin-side, but when it came to his own death-hour he did not dare to die without telling the truth. Ask his son David." "David Borson," said the minister, "at your father's death-hour did he indeed confess to the slaying of Bele Trenby?" Then David stood up. All fear had gone, he knew not where. He looked even taller than his wont. And the light of God's presence was so close to him that his large, fair face really had a kind of luminosity.