was magnetized. Soon the
revivalist came down from the pulpit and stood within the
Communion-rail, whence he addressed the nearmost part of the people in
low, soothing tones of persuasion. Apparently he ignored Ezra Brunt, but
the man was convicted of sin, and felt himself melting like an icicle in
front of a fire. He recalled the days of his youth, the piety of his
father and mother, and the long traditions of a stern Dissenting
family. He had backslidden, slackened in the use of the means of grace,
run after the things of this world. It is true that none of his chiefest
iniquities presented themselves to him; he was quite unconscious of them
even then; but the lesser ones were more than sufficient to overwhelm
him. Class-leaders were now reasoning with stricken sinners, and Ezra,
who could not take his eyes off the revivalist, heard the footsteps of
those who were going to the 'inquiry-room' for more private counsel. In
vain he argued that he was about to be ridiculous; that the idea of him,
Ezra Brunt, a professed Wesleyan for half a century, being publicly
'saved' at the age of fifty-seven was not to be entertained; that the
town would talk; that his business might suffer if for any reason he
should be morally bound to apply to it too strictly the principles of
the New Testament. He was under the spell. The tears coursed down his
long cheeks, and he forgot to care, but sat entranced by the
revivalist's marvellous voice. Suddenly, with an awful sob, he bent and
hid his face in his hands. The spectacle of the old, proud man helpless
in the grasp of profound emotion was a sight to rend the heart-strings.

'Brother, be of good cheer,' said a tremulous and benign voice above
him. 'The love of God compasseth all things. Only believe.'

He looked up and saw the venerable face and long white beard of George
Christopher Timmis.

Ezra Brunt shrank away, embittered and ashamed.

'I cannot,' he murmured with difficulty.

'The love of God is all-powerful.'

'Will it make you part with that bit o' property, think you?' said Ezra
Brunt, with a kind of despairing ferocity.

'Brother,' replied the aged servant of God, unmoved, 'if my shop is in
truth a stumbling-block in this solemn hour, you shall have it.'

Ezra Brunt was staggered.

'I believe! I believe!' he cried.

'Praise God!' said the chemist, with majestic joy.

* * * * *

Three months afterwards Eva Brunt and Clive Timmis were