over to his side by his gloss and blandishments,
and by the sly dark scandal against Mr.
Ambery. Rebecca and I took our seats quite
at the back of the chapel, and my poor child
covered her face with a thick veil. But the
master went and took his customary place among
the deacons, with the young minister presiding
over them, just underneath the pulpit, from
which he had taught and comforted the church
for upwards of thirty years. The very sight of
his white head, tremulous and bowed down with
age, and not with dishonour, ought to have
stricken them into shame, and I did see several,
who were getting on in life themselves, hide
their faces for a minute or two in their hands,
as if they were saying a second prayer on his
behalf alone.

There was a long stifling hush after all the
usual work was over, so dreadful that all our
hearts throbbed and fluttered painfully, while
we gazed with fixed eyes upon our young
minister. You could see him shiver; you could
catch the light falling upon big tears which
forced their way through the fingers of his hand
covering his eyes; you could almost hear the
muttered words that rose to his lips, and were
choked back again to his heart by his sobs.
Every one of us, except Rebecca, gazed upon
him awe-stricken, and a sigh, that sounded like
a sorrowful wailing, rolled round the chapel, as
he stretched out his trembling hand towards the
old pastor.

"Brethren," he cried, " I cannot! I cannot!
You ask me to sit in judgment upon a father.
God knows I have looked upon Mr. Ambery as
a most revered father. Choose one from among
yourselves to take this place.”

He left it as he spoke, and, stepping down
into the aisle, took the seat in the minister's
pew, where, in past years, Mrs. Ambery had
listened to her husband's teaching. There was
a stirring and rustling of the motionless figure
beside me, and I saw Rebecca glance once at
the minister's averted face. The deacons looked
at one another in confusion and bewilderment,
not knowing how to choose, and there ran a
whispering from pew to pew; but, before any
person had found courage to speak, Mr. Ambery
rose from his seat, and, with tottering steps,
moved to the minister's chair, and, standing for
a moment to look round with a faint glimmer of
a smile, sank down into it, leaning his silvery
head against the purple cloth with which it was
covered. He had always taken the vacant
chair whenever our minister was absent; but
could he sit in judgment upon himself? I
kept my eyes fixed upon him, but his face
was as tranquil and bright as was Stephen's
in his hour of false accusation; and,
while yet the church hesitated, he lifted up his
voice, clear though feeble, and said, " Brethren,
proceed with the matter in hand. Do ye not
know that the saints shall judge the world? and
if the world shall be judged by you, are ye unworthy
to judge the smallest matters?" One
of the deacons, I mention no names, stated that
thirty years ago, when the sum in question must
have passed into Mr. Ambery's hands, it was
found that he had invested five hundred pounds
in a mortgage upon a chapel, which he proved
by a letter from one of the trustees of that
chapel. Up to that time he had received from
the church only the sum of eight hundred
pounds, being one hundred pounds a year for
eight years, during which he had been their
pastor. Was it to be credited by men of
business that out of eight hundred pounds the
immense proportion of five hundred pounds had
been saved?

Mr. Ambery listened attentively, but with a
strange sad air of perplexity upon his face; and
when the speaker came to a pause he answered
nothing, but glanced round uneasily as if for
some one else to speak. After a dreadful
pause, he rose and drew himself up to his full
height, stretching out his arms towards them
with a look of tender entreaty, while his voice,
thin and quavering, fell upon our hearkening
ears.

"My people," he said, "it is I who have
baptised you; these hands have broken the
bread of communion among you; night and day
have I borne the burden of your souls before the
throne."

He paused there tremulously, and a profound
stillness and shame fell upon the church.

"You ask me how I saved that money," he
cried. "I tell you I denied myself everything
that is desirable and pleasant to a man. I gave
hunger, and famine, and loneliness, and labour
for it. Catherine herself trod upon the verge
of starvation to snatch it from the poverty
which threatened us. I tell you men like
you know not what self-denial is. We paid
our full price of suffering for every portion
of it. Behold now, here I am, old and grey-headed
before you: witness against me before
the Lord, and before his anointed; whom
have I defrauded? or whom have I oppressed?
or of whose hand have I received any bribe to
blind mine eyes therewith? and I will restore it
to you."

He stood before us with his hand upraised,
and his eyes flashing back our earnest gaze; but
before one could move the fire faded away from
his face, and with a low bitter cry, which tingled
in our ears, he sank down upon the floor, as one
suddenly stricken by the hand of God.

Yes, stricken, but with a very gentle stroke:
paralysed down one side, yet with his mind and
his speech spared to him, or rather restored
after a few days' lethargy. There was nothing
marvellous about it after the great excitement
and emotion of the troublous days; but there
were some who, when the first shock was over,
were not afraid to say there was a judgment in
it. There was no other church meeting held,
though nothing had been decided at the first;
and still every one was reckoning and calculating
whether the money could have been
honestly gathered, or was, as Mr. Corbett's
friends asserted, this very sum for which Mr.
Ambery was trustee. And there was a great
division of opinion in the church about it.