was the answer to the expectancy depicted on his people's faces. It
was as though that waiting throng had formed itself into one collective
being, for whose soul he bore a message, and to whom he must unburden
himself, and there was a depth of meaning in his voice as he gave out
the words of an old familiar hymn which fixed his hearers' attention at
once. Ebben Owens had always led the hymns, but latterly he had
dropped that custom, and to-night he stood silent with eyes fixed upon
the evening sky, visible through the long chapel window. The hymn was
sung with fervour, and in that volume of sound his voice was not
missed. The old grey walls reverberated to the rich tones, which
filled the chapel, and pouring out through the open doors, flooded the
narrow valley with harmony. It was followed by a prayer, and another
hymn, after which the candles were lighted, one on each iron pillar
supporting the crowded gallery, one on each side of the "big seat"
under the pulpit, and one on each side of the preacher, who, leaning
his arms on the open Bible before him, began in low impressive tones to
deliver himself of the message which he bore to his people. Only the
old familiar words, "Come unto Me all ye that are weary and heavy laden
and I will give you rest." Only the message of a greater Preacher than
he--only the theme of a love unchanging and unfathomable, but told in
such vivid though simple language, that the sensitive Celtic hearts of
his audience, were enthralled and subdued, and there were few in that
large crowd who did not gaze at the preacher through eyes blurred with
tears. Sometimes his voice rose in indignant protest, and sometimes
fell in tender appeal, and when at last the sermon was over and the
last hymn had been sung, there was an evident feeling of regret and a
furtive drying of eyes.

In curious almost ludicrous contrast to the preacher's mellow tones,
Jos Hughes's cracked voice broke the solemn silence, with the