A sigh passed through
the Chapel as he rose and relaxed the tension. It was Jacky Pascoe.
He stepped up to the Squire, and, laying a hand on his shoulder,
said, gently, persuasively, yet so clearly that Honoria could hear
every word:
"Try, brother. Keep on trying. O, I've knowed cases--You can never
tell how near salvation is. One minute the heart's like a stone, and
the next maybe 'tis melted and singing like fat in a pan.
'Tis working! 'tis working!"
The congregation broke out with cries: "Amen!" "Glory, glory!"
The Squire's lips moved and he muttered something. But stony despair
sat in his eyes.
"Ay, glory, glory! You've been a doubter, and you doubt no longer.
Soon you'll be a shouter. Man, you'll dance like as David danced
before the Ark! You'll feel it in your toes! Come along, friends,
while he's resting a minute! Sing all together--oh, the blessed
peace of it!--
"'I long to be there, His glory to share--'"
He pitched the note, and the congregation took up the second line
with a rolling, gathering volume of song. It broke on the night like
the footfall of a regiment at charge. Honoria scrambled off Taffy's
back, and the two slipped away to the high road.
"Shall you tell your father?"
"I--I don't know."
She stooped and found a loose stone. "He shan't find salvation
to-night," she said heroically.
As the stone crashed through the window the two children pelted off.
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