aside, and a woman walked stiffly out, her hands
clenched, and her glassy eyes set in a fixed stare.
Her hat was gone, and her grey hair lay upon one
shoulder. She progressed, stumbling blindly over
the inequalities of the ground, until she tripped on a
stone. She lay where she had fallen, with her muscles
jerking and shuddering, until a man appeared
from behind the counter, and dragged her unceremoniously
to the women's shelter.

Gordon entered the tent where the service was in
progress. A subdued light filtered through the canvas
upon a horde that filled every foot of space;
they sat pressed together on long, rough boards
nailed together in the semblance of benches. On a
platform at the farther side a row of men and women
sat against the canvas wall; to their left a folding
organ had been erected, and was presided over by
a man with a blurred, greyish countenance; while,
standing at the forefront of the platform, a large,
heavy man in a black frock coat was addressing the
assemblage. He had a round, pallid, smooth face
with long, black hair brushed back upon his coat
collar, and great, soft, white hands.

"...it's rising," he proclaimed, in a loud, sing-song
voice, "the flood is rising; now it's about your
pockets -- praise God!, now it's above your waists.
It's rising! It's rising! Hallelujah!, the sea of redemption
is rising," his voice rose with the figurative

[[187]]

p186 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p187w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p188

v?