The first part of the service passed by as usual, disturbed only by the occasional rustle of a silk dress, or the carefully hushed footstep up the aisles of some late comer, and the moment for the prayer before the sermon was come. Every head was bent, and a deep stillness prevailed, which grew more and more profound as the minister’s voice still remained silent, as if he was waiting until there was no stir or rustle or movement to be heard throughout the congregation.

There was something awful in this solemn pause before his voice was lifted up to God; and, as it prolonged itself, a sigh, it might have been from the minister’s inmost heart, was heard by those nearest to the pulpit. One or two looked up, and saw his head bowed down, with the softened light of the lamps falling upon the silvery streaks of his hair, and they dropped their faces again upon their hands, waiting. Then there ran a thrill and a shiver through all the congregation, and here and there a sob which could no longer be repressed broke the laboring silence.

After that there were whispers and murmurs, and faces lifted up with a vague dread upon them; and still the minister did not raise his face from the crimson cushion that his voice might allay the growing agitation. His children were looking up at last; and Jessica had risen from her knees and was gazing up with eager eyes to his drooping head.

There was a stir now, and the spell of silence was broken; while Jessica, forgetful of everything but her deep love for him, ran swiftly up the steps and touched him timidly with her hand. The minister neither spoke nor moved.

The great congregation was in a tumult instantly, standing up, and talking, and crying out with hysterical sobs, and pushing out of their pews, and thronging towards the pulpit. In a few minutes the minister was carried down into the vestry, and the crowd gathered about the door of it. Some of the chief men belonging to the chapel urged the congregation to disperse and return to their homes; but they were too much excited to leave before it was known what had befallen the minister.

Jessica pushed her way—being small and nimble, and used to crowds—to the very door of the vestry, where Daniel stood to guard it from being invaded by too many strangers; and she waited there beside him until the door was opened by a hand-breadth, and a physician whispered from within, “It is not death, but a stroke.”

More quickly than the words could be carried from lip to lip among the crowd Jessica glided through the midst to the pew where the minister’s children were kneeling, with arms about one another, sobbing out inarticulate prayers to God. She stood for a moment beside them, scarcely knowing what to say, and then she fell down on her knees by Winny, and put her lips close to her ear.

“Miss Winny,” she said with a trembling voice, “the doctor says it’s nothing but a stroke. He isn’t taken with death, Miss Jane; it’s only a stroke.”

The children started up eagerly and caught Jessica’s hands, clinging to her as some one older and wiser than themselves. They had had no bitter taste of life’s troubles before this, for their mother had been taken from them before they were old enough to understand their loss, and their lives had been tenderly smoothed and cared for. That Jessica should bring them some intelligence and consolation in their sudden panic of dread invested her with a kind of superiority; so now they looked to her as one who could help and counsel them. “What is a stroke, Jessica?” asked Jane, looking imploringly towards her with her white face.

“I don’t hardly know,” answered Jessica. “I know what strokes used to be when I lived with mother; but this is different, Miss Jane; this stroke comes from God, and it cannot be very bad.”

The children were all three of them silent after Jessica had spoken: but each one of them was gathering comfort and strength from her words. It was a stroke which had come from God, and therefore it could not be very bad. No one had seen it fall; no one had known that the Father’s hand was lifted up to strike, and it had come down softly and gently, only hushing the voice and shutting up the gateway of the senses. Now that it was known, the chapel was gradually emptying as the congregation went away, and Jane and Winny, feeling calmed and strengthened, were ready to listen to their nurse, who was now anxious to take them home. “Let Jessica come home with us, nurse,” said Winny, who still held Jessica’s hand between both her own. The nurse consented willingly, and in a few minutes they were walking homewards, one on each side of Jessica. They felt strangely bewildered still; but Jessica was like a guide to them, leading them through the fog and over the slimy crossings with familiar confidence, until they reached the door of the minister’s house, when she hung back shyly, as if not meaning to go in with them.

“You mustn’t leave us yet,” cried Winny, impetuously. “Papa is not come home, and I’m a little bit afraid. Aren’t you afraid, Jessica?”

“No,” answered Jessica cheerfully. “It can’t be anything dreadful bad.”

“You must come in and stay with us,” said Jane, the calm sedateness of her manner a little shaken by her fears. “Nurse, we will take Jessica into papa’s study till he comes home.” The three children went quietly up stairs to the study and sat down by the fire, which was burning brightly, as if waiting to welcome the minister’s return after the labors of the day. The minister had gathered about him many books, so that every part of the large room was filled with them.

On the table lay those which he had been studying during the week, while he was preparing his elaborate sermon which was to have astonished and electrified even his accustomed hearers; and upon the desk there were scattered about the slips of paper upon which he had jotted down some of the profound thoughts which only a few of his people could comprehend. But upon the chimney-piece, at the end where his easy-chair was placed, and close to his hand, lay a small pocket-Bible, so worn with much reading that there was no book in his study like it.

The troubled children sitting on the hearth knew nothing of the profound and scholarly volumes on the table; but they were familiar with the little Bible, and Winny, taking it in her hand, lifted it to her lips and kissed it fondly.

“Papa always used to read and talk to us on a Sunday night after we had come home,” she said sorrowfully, speaking already as if the custom was one long past, which could never be resumed.

“Does a stroke last long, Jessica?” inquired Jane, with a look of deep anxiety.

“I’m not sure,” answered Jessica. “Mother’s strokes were sharp and soon over, but the smart lasted a long while. Maybe the stroke is now over, but perhaps the smart will last a little while. God knows.”

“Yes,” said Jane, the tears standing in her eyes, “and God knows what is best for papa and us. We’ve known that a long time, but now we must believe it with our hearts.”

“Believing is a deal harder than knowing,” remarked Winny, with a look wonderfully like her father’s, and the three children were silent again, their minds full of thought, while they listened for the minister’s return to his home.