You want know? Tiens,
be quiet; here he come. He cure you body and soul, ver' queeck--yes."

The crowd swayed and parted, and slowly, bare head uplifted, face
looking to neither right nor left, the Faith Healer made his way to the
door of the little house. The crowd hushed. Some were awed, some were
overpoweringly interested, some were cruelly patient. Nicolle Terasse
and others were whispering loudly to Tim Denton. That was the only
sound, until the Healer got to the door. Then, on the steps, he turned
to the multitude.

"Peace be to you all, and upon this house," he said and stepped through
the doorway.

Tim Denton, who had been staring at the face of the Healer, stood for
an instant like one with all his senses arrested. Then he gasped, and
exclaimed, "Well, I'm eternally--" and broke off with a low laugh, which
was at first mirthful, and then became ominous and hard.

"Oh, magnificent--magnificent--jerickety!" he said into the sky above
him.

His friends who were not "saved," closed in on him to find the meaning
of his words, but he pulled himself together, looked blankly at them,
and asked them questions. They told him so much more than he cared to
hear, that his face flushed a deep red--the bronze of it most like the
colour of Laura Sloly's hair; then he turned pale. Men saw that he was
roused beyond any feeling in themselves.

"'Sh!" he said. "Let's see what he can do." With the many who were
silently praying, as they had been, bidden to do, the invincible ones
leant forwards, watching the little room where healing--or tragedy--was
afoot. As in a picture, framed by the window, they saw the kneeling
figures, the Healer standing with outstretched arms. They heard his
voice, sonorous and appealing, then commanding--and yet Mary Jewell did
not rise from her bed and walk. Again, and yet again, the voice rang
out, and still the woman lay motionless. Then he laid his hands upon
her, and again he commanded her to rise.

There was a faint movement, a desperate struggle to obey, but Nature and
Time and Disease had their way. Yet again there was the call. An agony
stirred the bed. Then another great Healer came between, and mercifully
dealt the sufferer a blow--Death has a gentle hand sometimes. Mary
Jewell was bedridden still--and for ever.

Like a wind from the mountains the chill knowledge of death wailed
through the window, and over the heads of the crowd. All the figures
were upright now in the little room. T