not only that he dared to tell us what we were--smaller men might have
done that, and it is comparatively easy to denounce. But he has the
vision to construct, he is a seer himself--he has really made me see
what Christianity is. And as long as I live I shall never forget
those closing sentences."

"And now?" asked Alison. "And now what will happen?"

Mrs. Constable changed colour. Her tact, on which she prided herself,
had deserted her in a moment of unlooked-for emotion.

"Oh, I know that my father and the others will try to put him out--but
can they?" Alison asked.

It was Mrs. Constable's turn to stare. The head she suddenly and
impulsively put forth trembled on Alison's wrist.

"I don't know, Alison--I'm afraid they can. It is too terrible to think
about. . . . And they can't--they won't believe that many changes are
coming, that this is but one of many signs. . . Do come and see me."

Alison left her, marvelling at the passage between them, and that, of all
persons in the congregation of St. John's, the lightning should have
struck Mrs. Constable. . .

Turning to the right on Burton Street, she soon found herself walking
rapidly westward through deserted streets lined by factories and
warehouses, and silent in the Sabbath calm . . . . She thought of
Hodder, she would have liked to go to him in that hour . . . .