rumpet. "Who is for the
Lord? Who is for the Lord?"

Then gently again,--"Let us pray in silence for a few minutes." . . .
A great creaking of chairs, more intense silence. At last the voice
again--"Will those who are sure that they are saved stand up?" Dead
silence--no one moves. "Will those who wish to be saved stand up?" With
one movement every one--save only Olva, dark in his corner--stands up.
Bunning's eyes are flaming, his body is trembling from head to foot.

"Christ is amongst you! Christ is in the midst of you!"

Suddenly, somewhere amongst the shadows a voice breaks out--"Oh! my God!
Oh! my God!" Some one is crying--some one else is crying. All about the
building men are falling on to their knees. Bunning has crashed on to
his--his face buried in his hands.

The little gentle voice again--"I shall be delighted to speak to any of
those whose consciences are burdened. If any who wish to see me would
wait. . . ."

The souls are caught for God.

Prayers followed, another hymn. Bunning with red eyes has contemplated
his sins and is in a glow of excited repentance. It is over.

As Olva rose to leave the building he knew that this was not the path
for which he was searching. Not here was that terrible Presence. . . .
The men poured in a black crowd out into the night. As Olva stepped into
the darkness he knew that the terror was only now beginning for him.
Standing there now with no sorrow, remorse, repentance, nevertheless
he knew that all night, alone in his room, he would be fighting with
devils. . . .

Bunning, nervously, stammered--"If you don't mind--I think I'm going
round for a minute."

Olva nodded good-night. As he went on his way to Saul's, grimly, it
seemed humorous that "soft-faced" Bunning should be going to confess his
thin, miserable little sins.

For him, Olva Dune, only a dreadful silence. . . .

CHAPTER III

THE BODY COMES TO TOWN

1

And after all he slept, slept dreamlessly. He woke to the comfortable
accustomed voices of Mrs. Ridge, his bedmaker, and Miss Annett, her
assistant. It was a cold frosty morning; the sky showed through the
window a cloudless blue.

He could hear the deep base voice of Mrs. Ridge in her favourite phrase:
"Well, I _don't_ think, Miss Annett. You won't get over me," and Miss
Annett's mildly submissive, "I should think _not_ indeed, Mrs. Ridge."

Lying back in bed he surveyed with a mild wonder the fact that he had
thus, easily, slept. He felt,