Then Parson True opened his eyes on his somewhat shamefaced flock and
their neighbor townsmen, and began to preach. It was good to be there,
he told them, only as it was good to be anywhere else, in the spirit of
God. Judgment might overtake them there, as it might at home, in house
or field. Were they prepared? He bent forward over the table, his slim
form trembling with the intensity of gathering passion. He appealed to
each one personally with that vibratory quality of address peculiar to
him, wherein it seemed that not only his lips but his very soul
challenged the souls before him. One after another joined the outer
circle, and faces bent forward over the shoulders in front, with that
strange, arrested expression inevitably born when, on the flood of
sunny weather, we are reminded how deep the darkness is within the
grave.

"Let every man say to himself, 'Thou, God, seest me!'" reiterated the
parson. "Thou seest into the dark corners of my heart. What dost Thou
see, O God? What dost Thou see?"

Elvin and Rosa had drawn near with the others. She smiled a little, and
the hard bloom on her cheeks had not wavered. No one looked at them,
for every eye dwelt on the preacher; and though Elvin's face changed
from the healthy certainty of life and hope to a green pallor of
self-recognition, no one noticed. Consequently, the general surprise
culminated in a shock when he cried out, in a loud voice, "God be
merciful! God be merciful! I ain't fit to be with decent folks! I'd
ought to be in jail!" and pushed his way through the crowd until he
stood before the parson, facing him with bowed head, as if he found in
the little minister the vicegerent of God. He had kept Rosa's hand in a
convulsive grasp, and he drew her with him into the eye of the world.
She shrank back, whimpering feebly; but no one took note of her. The