“No! Will you listen, if I tell you?” He leaned forward eagerly, and then got his hands back to their place as the sound of wheels warned him from the near corner. Denny tore round it, and pretended to have a heart-attack when he saw Brack.
“Danged if it bain’t the Judgment hissel! Runnin’ about in a motor an’ all!” He put his hands together, and turned his eyes to heaven. “Give us a bit of a prayer, Parson Brack, do!”
Livid, Brack snatched at the Prayer-book with quivering fingers, and stood up.
“Guess you shall have it right now!” he cried, and raised his hat. The book fell open instantly at the Forms of Prayer to be used at Sea. By the fierce rush of his words they guessed that he knew the page by heart.
“O most glorious and merciful Lord God.... Look down, we beseech thee, and hear us, calling out of the depths of misery, and out of the jaws of this death, which is ready to swallow us up! Save, Lord, or else we perish. The living, the living shall praise thee....”
His voice steadied as he read, the greatness of the need taking hold, not only of the speaker, but of the two men hearkening. Mechanically, Lanty put his hand to his cap, and Denny awkwardly followed suit. The last words came out quietly into calm.
“Stir up thy strength, O Lord, and come and help us; for thou givest not always the battle to the strong, but canst save by many or by few.... Hear us thy poor servants begging mercy, and imploring thy help.”
And Lanty, with his face turned to the sea, answered “Amen!”
Denny passed him as he rode on, saluting him with a lifted whip. His pleasant, uncaring face was troubled and wondering. He met the agent’s eyes with a question in his own.
Lancaster broke into a trot in the fair evening, and, behind him, over the sea, there came up a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand.