several of the different sectarians who used the Temple. Gillespie seemed
not to notice or to care for the greetings to his guest, and his girl wore
her wonted look of vague aloofness.

Matthew Braile had been given a seat at the front, perhaps in deference
to his age and dignity; perhaps in confusion at his presence. He glanced
up at the stranger with a keen glint through his branching eyebrows, and
made a guttural sound; his wife pushed him; and he said; "What?" and "Oh!"
quite audibly; and she pushed him again for answer.

The Gillespies sat down with the stranger in the foremost bench. He wore
the black broadcloth coat of the Friday night before; his long hair,
combed back from his forehead, fell down his shoulders almost to his
middle; the glances of his black eyes roved round the room, but were
devoutly lowered at the prayer which opened the service. It was a
Methodist who preached, but somehow to-night he had not the fervor of his
sect; his sermon was cold, and addressed itself to the faith rather than
the hope of his hearers. He spoke as from the hold of an oppressive spell;
at times he was perplexed, and lost his place in his exhortation. In the
close heat some drowsed, and the preacher was distracted by snoring from a
corner near the door. He lifted his voice as if to rouse the sleeper, or
to drown the noise; but he could not. He came to the blessing at last, and
the disappointed congregation rose to go out. Suddenly the loud snort that
had dismayed the camp-meeting sounded through the heavy air, and then
there came the thrilling shout of "Salvation."

The people did not need to look where the stranger had been sitting; he
had done what they hoped, what they expected, and he was now towering over
those near him, with his head thrown back, and his hair tossed like a mane
on his shoulders. The people stopped; some who had gone out crowded in