in a mass of alloy. They had nothing ideal, no
reverence, no sense of delicacy. Taking to his arms a face and form that
pleased him, the minister had not ingrafted upon it one babe of any
divinity; that coarser matrix received the sacred flame as mere mud
extinguishes the lightning. He fell into this reminiscence of personal
disappointment unwittingly, as in the process of his prayer he strove to
comfort Agnes. The moment he did so the cold magistracy of the prayer
ceased, and his voice began to tremble, and there ran between the
ecclesiastic and his parishioner the electric spark of mutual grief and
understanding.

The old man hesitated, and became choked with emotion.

As he stopped, and the pause was prolonged, Agnes herself, by a powerful
inner impulsion, took up the prayer aloud, and carried it along like
inspiration. She was not of the strong-minded type of women, rather of
the wholly loving; but the deep afflictions of the past few months,
working down into the crevices and cells of her nature, had struck the
impervious bed of piety, and so deluged it with sorrow and the lonely
sense of helplessness that now a cry like an appeal to judgment broke
from her, not despair nor accusation, but an appeal to the very equity
of God.

It arose so frankly and in such majesty, finding its own aptest words by
its unconscious instinct, that the aged minister was presently aware of
a preternatural power at his side. Was this woman a witch, genius,
demon, or the very priestess of God, he asked.

The solemn prayer ranged into his own experience by that touch of nature
which unlocks the secret spring of all, being true unto its own deep
needs. The minister was swept along in the resistless current of the
prayer, and listened as if he were the penitent and she the priest. As
the petition died away in Agnes's physical exhaustion, the venerable man
thought to himself:

"When Jacob wrestled all night at Peniel, his angel must have been a
woman like this; for she has power with God and with men!"

CHAPTER VII.

FOCUS.

Calvin Van de Lear had been up-stairs with Duff Salter, and on his way
out had heard the voice of Agnes Wilt praying. He slipped into the back
parlor and listened at the crevice of the folding-door until his father
had given the pastoral benediction and departed. Then with cool
effrontery Calvin walked into the front parlor, where Agnes was sitting
by the slats of the nearly darkened window.

"Pardon