trembling hand in his great paw, pressed it reassuringly, winked
humorously, and then looked about him with a sardonic grin.

To Pepeeta's relief, the silence was at last broken by an old man who
rose from his seat, reverently folded his hands, lifted his face to
heaven, closed his eyes and began to speak. She had never until this
moment listened to a prayer, and this address to an invisible Being
wrought in her already agitated mind a confused and exciting effect; but
the prayer was long, and gave her time to recover her self-control. The
silence which followed its close was less painful because less strange
than the other, and she permitted herself to glance about the room and
to wonder what would happen next. Her curiosity was soon satisfied.
David Corson, the young mystic, rose to his feet. He was dressed with
exquisite neatness in that simple garb which lends to a noble person a
peculiar and serious dignity. Standing for a moment before he began his
address, he looked over the audience with the self-possession of an
accomplished orator. The attention of every person in the room was at
once arrested. They all recalled their wandering or preoccupied
thoughts, lifted their bowed heads and fixed their eyes upon the
commanding figure before them.

This general movement caused Pepeeta to turn, and she observed a sudden
transformation on the countenance of the dove-like Quaker maiden. A
flush mantled her pale cheek and a radiance beamed in her mild blue
eyes. It was a tell-tale look, and Pepeeta, who divined its meaning,
smiled sympathetically.

But the first word which fell from the lips of the speaker withdrew her
attention from every other object, for his voice possessed a quality
with which she was entirely unfamiliar. It would have charmed and