It was a beautiful Sabbath morning, just one year after Edna’s departure, and the church was crowded to its utmost capacity, for people had come for many miles around to witness a ceremony, the announcement of which had given rise to universal comment.  As the hour approached for the ordination of St. Elmo Murray to the ministry of Jesus Christ, even the doors were filled with curious spectators; and when Mr. Hammond and St. Elmo walked down the aisle, and the old man seated himself in a chair within the altar, there was a general stir in the congregation.

The officiating minister had come from a distant city to perform a ceremony of more than usual interest; and when he stood up in the pulpit, and the organ thundered through the arches, St. Elmo bowed his head on his hand, and sat thus during the hour that ensued.

The ordination sermon was solemn and eloquent, and preached from the text in Romans: 

“For when ye were the servants of sin, ye were free from righteousness.  But now being made free from sin, and become servants to God, ye have your fruit unto holiness, and the end everlasting life.”

Then the minister, having finished his discourse, came down before the altar and commenced the services; but Mr. Murray sat motionless, with his countenance concealed by his hand.  Mr. Hammond approached and touched him, and, as he rose, led him to the altar, and presented him as a candidate for ordination.

There, before the shining marble pulpit which he had planned and built in the early years of his life, for the idol of his youth, stood St. Elmo; and the congregation, especially those of his native village, looked with involuntary admiration and pride at the erect, powerful form, clad in its suit of black—­at the nobly proportioned head, where gray locks were visible.

“But if there be any of you who knoweth any impediment or crime, for the which he ought not to be received into this holy ministry, let him come forth, in the name of God, and show what the crime or impediment is.”

The preacher paused, the echo of his words died away, and perfect silence reigned.  Suddenly St. Elmo raised his eyes from the railing of the altar, and, turning his face slightly, looked through the eastern window at the ivy-draped vault where slept Murray and Annie.  The world was silent, but conscience and the dead accused him.  An expression of intolerable pain crossed his handsome features, then his hands folded themselves tightly together on the top of the marble balustrade, and he looked appealingly up to the pale Jesus staggering under his cross.

At that instant a spotless white pigeon from the belfry found its way into the church through the open doors, circled once around the building, fluttered against the window, hiding momentarily the crown of thorns, and, frightened and confused, fell upon the fluted pillar of the pulpit.

An electric thrill ran through the congregation; and as the minister resumed the services, he saw on St. Elmo’s face a light, a great joy, such as human countenances rarely wear this side of the grave.