o speakers from
London were to address the meeting, and Jim gazed very critically on
both.

A hymn was sung, and the crash of the hoarse voices sounded weirdly over
the moan of the wind. Jim felt something catch at his throat, and yet he
was unable to tell what strange new feeling thrilled him. His comrades
sang as if their lives depended on their efforts. Jim sat on, half
pleased, half sulky, wholly puzzled. Then one of the speakers rose. At
first sight the preacher looked like anything but an apostle; his plump,
rounded body gave no hint of asceticism, and his merry, pure eye
twinkled from the midst of a most rubicund expanse of countenance. He
looked like one who had found the world a pleasant place, and Jim
gruffly described him as a "jolly old bloke." But the voice of this
comfortable, suave-looking missionary by no means matched his
appearance. He spoke with a grave and silvery pitch that made his words
seem to soar lightly over his audience. His accent was that of the
genuine society man, but a delicate touch--a mere suspicion--of Scotch
gave the cultured tones a certain odd piquancy. A solemn note of deep
passion trembled, as it were, amid the floating music, and every word
went home. This jolly, rosy missionary is one of the best of living
popular speakers, and his passionate simplicity fairly conquers the very
rudest of audiences. The man believes every word he says, and his power
of rousing strong emotion has seldom been equalled.

Jim Billings sat and glowered; he understood every simply lucid sentence
that the orator uttered, and he was charmed in spite of himself.

"This is the blankest, rummiest blank go ever I was in," muttered the
would-be iconoclast.

His visions of a merry riot were all fled, and he was listening with the
eagerness of a decorous Sunday-school child.

Speaker Number Two arose, and Jim's bleared eyes were riveted on him.
The rough saw before him a pallid, worn man, whose beautiful face seemed
drawn by suffering. Long, exquisite artist hands, silky beard, kindly,
humorous mouth, marked by stern lines; these were the things that Jim
dimly saw. But the dusky blackguard was really daunted and mastered by
the preacher's eye. The wonderful eye was like Napoleon's and Mary
Stuart's in colour; but the Emperor's lordly look hinted of earthly
ambition: the missionary's wide, flashing gaze seemed to be turned on
some solemn vision. Twice in my life have I seen such an eye--once in
the flesh