icketts," and that I owe all I am to-night, under God, to Mrs.
Mavor, and'--with a little quiver in his voice--'her baby. And we all
know that for two years she has not sung; and we all know why. And what
I say is, that if she does not feel like singing to-night, she is not
going to sing to keep any drunken brute of Slavin's crowd quiet.'

There were deep growls of approval all over the church. I could have
hugged Shaw then and there. Mr. Craig went to Mrs. Mavor, and after a
word with her came back and said--

'Mrs. Mavor, wishes me to thank her dear friend Mr. Shaw, but says she
would like to sing.'

The response was perfect stillness. Mr. Craig sat down to the organ
and played the opening bars of the touching melody, 'Oft in the Stilly
Night.' Mrs. Mavor came to the front, and, with a smile of exquisite
sweetness upon her sad face, and looking straight at us with her
glorious eyes, began to sing.

Her voice, a rich soprano, even and true, rose and fell, now soft, now
strong, but always filling the building, pouring around us floods of
music. I had heard Patti's 'Home, sweet Home,' and of all singing that
alone affected me as did this.

At the end of the first verse the few women in the church and some men
were weeping quietly; but when she began the words--

'When I remember all
The friends once linked together,'

sobs came on every side from these tender-hearted fellows, and Shaw
quite lost his grip. But she sang steadily on, the tone clearer and
sweeter and fuller at every note, and when the sound of her voice died
away, she stood looking at the men as if in wonder that they should
weep. No one moved. Mr. Craig played softly on, and, wandering through
many variations, arrived at last at

'Jesus, lover of my soul.'

As she sang the appealing words, her face was lifted up, and she saw
none of us; but she must have seen some one, for the cry in her voice
could only come from one who could see and feel help close at hand. On
and on went the glorious voice, searching my soul's depths; but when she
came to the words--

'Thou, O Christ, art all I want,'

she stretched up her arms--she had quite forgotten us, her voice had
borne her to other worlds--and sang with such a passion of 'abandon'
that my soul was ready to surrender anything, everything.

Again Mr. Craig wandered on through his changing chords till again he
came to familiar ground, and the voice began, in low, thrilling tones,