This Advent sermon however was a masterpiece, and as Mr. Lorimer lovingly
fingered the pages of his manuscript he told himself that it could not
fail to make an impression upon the most hardened sinner.

A low knock at the door disturbed these pleasant thoughts and he frowned.
There was an unwritten law at the Vicarage that save for the most urgent
of reasons he should never be interrupted at this hour.

Softly the door opened. Humbly his wife peeped in.

"Are you very busy, Stephen?"

His frown melted away. Here at least was one whose appreciation was never
lacking. "Well, my dear Adelaide, I think I may truthfully say that the
stress of my business is fairly over. You may come in."

She crept in, mouse-like, and a distant burst of music wafted in with
her, causing her to turn and quickly close the door.

"Have you finished your sermon, dear? Can we have a little talk?" she
asked him nervously.

He stretched out a large white hand to her without rising. "Yes. I do not
think much remains to be said. We have as it were regarded the matter
from every point of view. I do not think there will be many consciences
unaroused when I have enunciated my final warning."

"You have such a striking delivery," murmured Mrs. Lorimer, clasping the
firm white hand between both her own.