“Oh, God!—”
A wave of sympathy came up from the audience inaudibly, as incense from an altar. Murray felt the uplift of their spirits, as if they were far away, yet pressing him forward.
“You know I am not worthy to speak for this people—” He paused. His forehead was damp with the mighty physical effort of the words, as if they were drawn forth from his very soul.
“You know I am a sinful man—”
He felt as if he stood in the court-room at last, confessing himself guilty before the world. Now his mother would know! Now his father would know! Now Bessie’s mother, and Mrs. Summers, and all of them would know, but he was glad! Already his soul felt lighter! The burden was going!
“You know I am not what they think—!” he burst forth. “I am not able to preside at a meeting like this. Won’t You take my place, O God? Won’t You lead these people, and won’t You help me and tell me what to do? I am willing for You to do what You like with me. I’m hiding in You!”
He hesitated. Then he added what he had heard in prayers ever since he came to Marlborough, what Mrs. Summers always closed her evening petition with—“For Jesus Christ’s sake, Amen.”
Two ministers at the back of the church whispered to one another softly.
“A most remarkable prayer!” said one.
“Yes, and a most remarkable young man, they say!” said the other. “A wonder in this age that his head is not turned with all the praise he is receiving. How humble he is!”