There was a stir, a rustle, and then a dead silence.
Mr. Persse and the curate sat in their stalls, and Joseph ascended the stone steps to the pulpit, which was set high on the left side of the chancel arch.
He looked down from his high place upon the faces below. Row after row of faces met his eye. Nearly all the electric lights, save only those which gleamed on the pulpit ledge and illuminated a crucifix behind his head, were lowered. He saw a sheen of black and white, the dull glitter of jewels, and the innumerable faces.
Still standing, he lifted his hands high above his head, and in a loud voice cried upon God—
"Father, give me a tongue to speak to these Thy children. Lord Jesus, guide me. Holy Ghost, descend upon this church, and speak through the mouth of Thy servant."
The voice rang like a bugle through the arches, and echoed in the lofty roof.
And now the words of the text: "Oh, consider this, ye that forget God; lest I pluck you away, and there be none to deliver you."
The second terrible warning to London had begun.