drew the people
to their feet always with these words, spoken as it were directly to
them:

"When the wicked man turneth away from the wickedness that he hath
committed, and doeth that which is lawful and right, he shall save
his soul alive."

I noticed this morning that he instantly attracted the attention of
every one, and held it, with the first words of the lesson:

"The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the
mighty fallen!"

It seemed to me as if the people at first almost tried to stop
breathing, so intense was the feeling. Mrs. Falchion was sitting very
near me, and though she had worn her veil up at first, as I uncharitably
put it then, to disconcert him, she drew it rather quickly down as his
reading proceeded; but, so far as I could see, she never took her
eyes off his face through the whole service; and, impelled in spite of
myself, I watched her closely. Though Ruth Devlin was sitting not far
from her, she scarcely looked that way.

Evidently the text of the sermon was not chosen that it might have some
association with Phil's death, but there was a kind of simple grandeur,
and certainly cheerful stalwartness, in his interpretation and practical
rendering of the text:

"Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah?
... travelling in the greatness of his strength? I that speak
in righteousness, mighty to save."

A man was talking to men sensibly, directly, quietly. It was impossible
to resist the wholesome eloquence of his temperament; he was a
revelation of humanity: what he said had life.

I said to myself, as I had before, Is it possible that this man ever did
anything unmanly?

After the service, James Devlin--with Ruth--came to Roscoe and myself,
and asked us to lunch at his house. Roscoe hesitated, but I knew it was
better for him not to walk up the hills and back again immediately after
luncheon; so I accepted for us both; and Ruth gave me a grateful look.
Roscoe seemed almost anxious not to be alone with Ruth--not from any
cowardly feeling, but because he was perplexed by the old sense of
coming catastrophe, which, indeed, poor fellow, he had some cause to
feel. He and Mr. Devlin talked of Phil's funeral and the arrangements
that had been made, and during the general conversation Ruth and I
dropped behind.

Quite abruptly she said to me: "Who is Mrs. Falchion?"

"A widow--it is said--rich, unencumbered," I as abruptly an