SMUG-FACED YOUTHS
that occupy the lower part of the hall. Still the crowd comes pouring in until the place is packed to the doors, and then for the first time a partial stillness falls upon the place. There is a slight commotion in the front row of the elevated stage and then amid a crash of tamborines and a roar of voices chanting a spirited chorus, a woman with a pale, spirituelle face and fine, intelligent eyes, shaded by a plain black straw bonnet bound with red ribbons, steps to the front, stands still as a statue, and looks with a strangely pitiful expression over the vast crowd before her. Even after the music ceases, she still stands there, with fingers tightly clasped and lips moving in silent prayer, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, she flings herself down on her knees, her whole body shaken with spasmodic sobs. The great crowd is thoroughly stilled now. All eyes are bent upon her, some in alarm, some in pity, while others burn with the kindling fire of religious fervor. She rises slowly and, stretching out her trembling hands to the audience, cries in a clear, bugle-like voice, “Oh, why will you die?” and then overcome by her feelings, bursts into a torrent of tears again. A thrill runs through the vast assemblage, all have caught the infection from her, and even the brazen-faced female in the back seat lets fall her eyes with a guilty look. Once more the electric woman on the platform begins to speak—at first brokenly, and gathering strength as she goes on, bursts out in an appeal to sinners, in which the terrors of a real old-fashioned up and up fire and brimstone gehenna are painted with a vividness which would