For the next few weeks the minister and his wife were both busy and anxious. For more than eight years they had labored with their people without much sign of result. Week after week the minister poured into his sermons the strength of his heart and mind, and then gave them to his people with all the fervor of his nature. Week after week his wife, in her women's meetings and in her Bible class, lavished freely upon them the splendid riches of her intellectual and spiritual powers, and together in the homes of the people they wrought and taught. At times it seemed to the minister that they were spending their strength for naught, and at such times he bitterly grudged, not his own toils, but those of his wife. None knew better than he how well fitted she was, both by the native endowments of her mind and by the graces of her character, to fill the highest sphere, and he sometimes grew impatient that she should spend herself without stint and reap no adequate reward. These were his thoughts as he lay on his couch, on the evening of the last Sabbath in the old church, after a day's work more than usually exhausting. The new church was to be opened the following week. For months it had been the burden of their prayers that at the dedication of their church, which had been built and paid for at the cost of much thought and toil, there should be some “signal mark of the divine acceptance.” No wonder the minister was more than usually depressed to-night. “There is not much sign of movement among the dry bones,” he said to his wife. “They are as dry and as dead as ever.” His wife was silent for some time, for she, too, had her moments of doubt and fear, but she said: “I think there is some sign. The people were certainly much impressed this morning, and the Bible class was very large, and they were very attentive.” “So they are every day,” said the minister, rather bitterly. “But what does it amount to? There is not a sign of one of these young people 'coming forward.' Just think, only one young man a member of the church, and he hasn't got much spunk in him. And many of the older men remain as hard as the nether millstone.” “I really think,” said his wife, “that a number of the young people would 'come forward' if some one would make a beginning. They are all very shy.” “So you always say,” said her husband, with a touch of impatience; “but there is no shyness in other things, in their frolics and their fightings. I am sure this last outrageous business is enough to break one's heart.” “What do you mean?” said his wife. “Oh, I suppose you will hear soon enough, so I need not try to keep it from you. It was Long John Cameron told me. It is strange that Hughie has not heard. Indeed, perhaps he has, but since his beloved Ranald is involved, he is keeping it quiet.” “What is it?” said his wife, anxiously.