David felt decidedly out of place Sunday evening as he took a seat in the back part of the room, in the least conspicuous corner he could find.

They were singing when he entered. He recognized the tune. It was the one he had heard at Chattanooga--"Nearer, my G.o.d, to Thee." It seemed to bring the whole scene before him--the sunrise--the vast concourse of people, and the earnestness that thrilled every soul.

At the close of the song, another was announced in a voice that he thought he recognized. He leaned forward to make sure. Yes, he had been correct. It was Hewson Raleigh's--one of the keenest, most scholarly lawyers at the bar, and a man he met daily.

He was leaning back in his seat, beating time with his left hand, as he led the tune with his strong tenor voice. He sang as if he heartily enjoyed it, and meant every word and note.

David moved over to make room for a newcomer. From his changed position he could see a number of people he recognized: Mr. and Mrs. Marion, Lois Denning, and the Courtney sisters. Bethany was seated at the piano.

Presently the door from the pastor's study opened, and Dr. Bascom came in and took his seat beside the president of the League.

"Look at Dr. Bascom," he heard some one behind him whisper to her escort. "What do you suppose could have happened? His face actually shines."

David had been watching it ever since he took his seat. It was a benign, pleasant face at all times, but just now it seemed to have caught the reflection of a great light. Everybody in the room noticed it. David, quick to make Old Testament comparisons, thought of Moses coming down the mountain from a talk with G.o.d. He felt as positively, as if he had seen for himself, that the minister had just risen from his knees, and had come in among them, radiant from the unspeakable joy of that communion. Every one present began to feel its influence.

The prophecy Dr. Bascom had chosen for reading, was one they had heard many times, but it seemed a new proclamation as he delivered it:

"Unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given."

Something of the gladness that must have rung through the song of the heralds on that first Christmas night, seemed to thrill the minister's voice as he read.

Then he turned to Luke's account of the shepherds abiding in the fields by night--that beautiful old story, that will always be new until the stars that still shine nightly over Bethlehem shall have ceased to be a wonder.

As the service progressed, David began to feel that he was not in a church, but that he had stumbled by mistake on some family reunion.

Everything was so informal. They told the experiences of the past week, the blessings and the trials that had come to them since they had last seen each other.

Sometimes they stood; oftener they spoke from where they sat, just as they would have talked in some home-circle.

And through it all they seemed to recognize a Divine presence in the room, to whom they spoke at intervals with reverence, with humility, but with the deepest love and grat.i.tude.

As David listened to voice after voice testifying to a personal knowledge of Christ as a Savior, he was forced to admit to himself that they possessed something to which he was an utter stranger.

When Hewson Raleigh arose, David listened with still greater interest.

He knew him to be an eloquent lawyer, and had heard him a number of times in rousing political speeches, and once in a masterly oration over the Nation's dead on Memorial-day. He knew what a power the man had with a jury, and he knew what respect even his enemies had for his unimpeachable veracity and honor.

Raleigh stood up now, quiet and unimpa.s.sioned as when examining a witness, to give his own clear, direct, lawyer-like testimony.

He said: "There may be some here to-night to whom the prophecy that was read, and the story of the Advent, are only of historic interest. To such I do not come with the sayings of the prophets, or to repeat the tidings of the shepherds, or to ask any one's credence because the apostles and martyrs and Christians of all times believed. I tell you that which I myself do know. The Holy Spirit has led me to the Christ.

If he were only an ethical teacher, if he were not the Son of G.o.d, he could not have entered into my life, and transformed it as he has done.

My star of hope is far more real to me than the stars outside that lighted my way to this room to-night. I have knelt at his feet and worshiped, and gone on my way rejoicing. I know that through the sacrifice he offered on Calvary my atonement is made, and I stand before the Father justified, through faith in his only-begotten. The voice that bears witness to this may not be audible to you; but though all the voices in the universe were combined to dispute it, they would be as nothing to that still, small voice within that whispers peace--the witness of the Spirit."

On the Day of Atonement Marion and Cragmore had not been half so surprised at hearing the League benediction intoned by rabbi and choir, as was David when the familiar blessing of the synagogue was repeated in unison by those of another faith:

"The Lord bless thee and keep thee. The Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace."

David had heard so much of Methodists that he had expected noisy demonstrations and great exhibitions of emotion. He had found enthusiastic singing and hearty responses of amen during the prayers; but while the prevailing spirit seemed one of intense earnestness, it had the depth and quiet of some great, resistless under-current.

He slipped out of the room after the benediction, fearful of meeting curious glances. A member of the reception committee managed to shake hands with him, but his friends had not discovered his attendance.

Two things followed him persistently. The expression of Dr. Bascom's face, and Hewson Raleigh's emphatic "I know."

He took the last train out to Hillhollow, wishing he had staid away from the League meeting. It haunted him, and made him uncomfortable.

He walked the floor until long after midnight. Even sleep brought him no rest, for in his dreams he was still groping blindly in the dark for something--he knew not what--but something wise men had found long years ago in a starlit manger, earth's "Herzenruhe."

CHAPTER XV.

ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

IT was Christmas eve, and nearing the time for Bethany to leave the office. She stood, with her wraps on, by one of the windows, waiting for Mr. Edmunds to come back. She had a message to deliver before she could leave, and she expected him momentarily.

In the street below people were hurrying by with their arms full of bundles. She was impatient to be gone, too. There were a great many finishing touches for her to give the tall tree in the drawing-room at home.

She had worked till the last moment at noon, and locked the door regretfully on the gayly-decked room, with its mingled odors of pine boughs and oranges, always so suggestive of Christmas festivities.

While she stood there, she heard steps in the hall.

"O, I thought you were Mr. Edmunds," she exclaimed, as David entered. It was the first time he had been at the office that day. "I have a message for him. Have you seen him anywhere?"

"No," answered David. "I have just come in from Hillhollow. Marta has telegraphed that she is coming home on the night train, so I shall not be able to accept Jack's invitation. She had not expected to come at all during the holidays; but one of the teachers was called home, and she could not resist the temptation to accompany her, although she can only stay until the end of the week."

As Bethany expressed her regrets at Jack's disappointment, David picked up a small package that lay on his desk.

"O, the expressman left that for you a little while ago," she said.

"Your Christmas is beginning early."

She turned again to the window, peering out through the dusk, while David lighted the gas-jet over his desk, and proceeded to open the package.

It occurred to her that here was a time, while all the world was turning towards the Messiah on this anniversary eve of his coming, that she might venture to speak of him. Before she could decide just how to begin, David spoke to her:

"Do you care to look, Miss Hallam? I would like for you to see it."

He held a little silver case towards her, on which a handsome monogram was heavily engraved.

As she touched the spring it flew open, showing an exquisitely painted miniature on ivory.

She gave an involuntary cry of delight.

"What a beautiful girl," she exclaimed. "It is one of the loveliest faces I ever saw." She scrutinized it carefully, studying it with an artist's evident pleasure. Then she looked up with a smile.

"This must be the one Rabbi Barthold spoke to me about," she said. "He said that she was rightly named Esther, for it means star, and her great, dark eyes always made him think of starlight."

"How long ago since he told you that?" asked David in surprise.