to
their store of knowledge, and the memory of that unedifying discussion
made Ishmael burn now. That time, too, when he stole his mother's Bible
from her room that he might puzzle over portions of it which he had
better have left unread. True, it had been John-Willy--whose household
did not include a Bible and who could not read--who had started him on
the course and urged him on, for as boys go, especially country-bred
boys, Ishmael was singularly clean of thought by nature, and also far
more ignorant than he knew, but none the less conscience accused him and
him only. He knew the sin of it, because he was aware of what the Parson
thought of such goings-on, and John-Willy had no such guide to right and
wrong. All these crimes thronged on him now, and still the awful voice
went on. The chapel grew hotter and hotter, and the flames shuddered at
the wicks till to Ishmael's starting eyes the shadowy walls seemed
a-quiver, and the people's faces swelled and diminished again. The
groans that began to sound from all around him bewildered him so that
sight and hearing became one confused sense and the place seemed dark
with the groaning. Then cries began to pierce the medley of sound and
vision. "Lord, save us, we perish!" shrieked a woman just behind
Ishmael, while Annie rocked herself back and forth, the tears streaming
down her face as she gave vent to little howls like an animal in
distress.

* * * * *

The preacher was clutching the rim of the pulpit with both hands, his
face had turned to a curious greenish colour, his eyes were rolled
upwards till only the whites could be seen: he was no longer articulate;
convulsive shudders tore at him, froth dabbled his chin. Suddenly he
fell down inside the pulpit and was lost to view, all except those
fearful hands, that clutched and beat at the rim. Then that too ceased,
and they hung over motionless, like the hands of someone drowned....

The whole chapel was clamorous now with cries and groanings, but a
comparative stillness fell as the preacher's hands gripped the edge of
the pulpit again and he dragged himself erect. The sweat ran down his
white face and splashed like tears on to the Bible before him.

"Who is going to stand forth and be saved?" he yelled: "Who amongst you
is still a prisoner to Satan? Let him come forth and confess the Lard. I
see 'ee over there"--pointing a shaking forefinger--"you'm hesitating.
You can't make up your min