She listened, bending forward, her eyes glued to the speaker's lips and
letting no word drop. He had the build and look of the fanatic: thin to
emancipation; brown; brilliant-eyed; his words snapped in nervous energy
and rang in awful earnestness.

"Life is sin, and sin is sorrow. Sorrow is born of selfishness and
self-seeking--our own good, our own happiness, our own glory. As if any
one of us were worth a life! No, never. A single self as an end is, and
ought to be, disappointment; it is too low; it is nothing. Only in a
whole world of selves, infinite, endless, eternal world on worlds of
selves--only in their vast good is true salvation. The good of others
is our true good; work for others; not for your salvation, but the
salvation of the world." The audience gave a low uneasy groan and the
minister in whose pulpit the stranger preached stirred uneasily. But he
went on tensely, with flying words:

"Unselfishness is sacrifice--Jesus was supreme sacrifice." ("Amen,"
screamed a voice.) "In your dark lives," he cried, "_who_ is the King of
Glory? Sacrifice. Lift up your heads, then, ye gates of prejudice and
hate, and let the King of Glory come in. Forget yourselves and your
petty wants, and behold your starving people. The wail of black millions
sweeps the air--east and west they cry, Help! Help! Are you dumb? Are
you blind? Do you dance and laugh, and hear and see not? The cry of
death is in the air; they murder, burn, and maim us!" ("Oh--oh--" moaned
the people swaying in their seats.) "When we cry they mock us; they ruin
our women and debauch our children--what shall we do?

"Behold the Lamb of God that taketh away sin. Behold the Supreme
Sacrifice that makes us clean. Give up your pleasures; give up your
wants; give up all to the weak and wretched of our people. Go down to
Pharaoh and smite him in God's name. Go down to the South where we
writhe. Strive--work--build--hew--lead--inspire! God calls. Will you
hear? Come to Jesus. The harvest is waiting. Who will cry: 'Here am I,
send me!'"

Zora rose and walked up the aisle; she knelt before the altar and
answered the call: "Here am I--send me."

And then she walked out. Above her sailed the same great stars; around
her hummed the same hoarse city; but within her soul sang some new song
of peace.

"What is the matter, Zora?" Mrs. Vanderpool inquired, for she seemed to
see in the girl's face and carriage some subtle change; something that
seemed to tell how o