There stood Mrs Glaire, looking old and careworn; in another corner, Eve Pelly, with her sweet, innocent face, looking to him angelic in her rapt absorption, as she listened to his words, and there, with his back to them, and leaning over the edge of the pew in a negligent _degage_ attitude, as if bent on showing the congregation the whiteness of the hands he held up for inspection, stood Richard Glaire, gazing at him with half-closed eyes, in a supercilious, sneering manner. "Poor boy!" thought Murray Selwood, as his eyes met those of the young man for a moment, and then, like a sudden flash, a thought occurred to the vicar, which made the blood flush to his face, and then seem to run back to his heart. It was the time for reading the first lesson, and his hand was seeking the book-mark in the Bible. "Sixth Sunday after Trinity," he thought. He will think it chosen, and directed at him. What should he do? Change it and read the lesson for that day of the month. No, that would look as if he had purposely avoided it, and it would take some few minutes to find, for his calmness was leaving him, and he could not recall the date. No, he must read it--it was his duty, and it was like a stroke of fate that Richard Glaire should come there upon such a day. His voice shook slightly, and his eyes dimmed as he read the first words of the beautiful old story, and then moved to the very core, and in deep rich tones, he read on in the midst of a stillness only broken by the soft chirp of some sparrow on the roof; while Mrs Glaire's head went lower and lower, Eve Pelly's hand stole softly across to touch her, and the young man sat with his back to the congregation, now white with rage, now burning with shame. "A coward--a sneak!" he muttered between his ground teeth. "He has chosen that chapter to shame me before all the people. I won't stand it. I'll get up and go out." But to do that was not in Richard Glaire's power. He had not the strength of mind and daring for so defiant an act, and he sat on, thrilled in every fibre, as the deep, mellow voice went on telling how the Lord sent Nathan unto David, and he told him of the rich man, who in his wealth spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd, but took the poor man's lamb, who was to him as a daughter; and as these words were told, there came from the body of the church the stifled sobs of one of the women of the congregation who could not control her feelings. And at last, in spite of himself, Murray Selwood was moved to such an extent by the words he was reading, that he spoke as if he were the prophet of old, his voice rising and falling as it thrilled his hearers, till it was deep and denunciatory, as he exclaimed:-- "And Nathan said unto David--Thou art the man."