All this fired the zeal of the preacher to no small degree. He resolved they should see the strength of the spiritual sword when wielded by his hands. He assured them that the stubborn neck of the offender should be bowed beneath the Scriptural yoke; that the flinty heart of the sinner should be broken, and that the cause of all this trouble and scandal should be made to do penance.
These cheerful predictions filled the hearts of his hearers with much joy, and they parted in a little flutter of excitement to meet again at the church, where they anticipated, as Mrs. White expressed it, that "Brother Fletcher would show that Myron Holder up in her true colors."
That night Myron sat again in that far-back seat, and again the spiritual thunders of the Reverend Fletcher spent themselves over her head. In all his harangue there was no word to touch her soul.
Death—death—death—was the burden of it all. Now death is a bogy to fright happy children with, not weary women. Life had been so bitter to this woman that its antithesis could not be aught but alluring.
* * * * * *
It was the last night of the Reverend Fletcher's ministration in Jamestown. For three nights he had fired volleys of fire and brimstone at Myron Holder; for three nights she had sat patient, pale, unmoved—her eyes growing wearier and wearier, her face sadder and sadder, as her hope of finding peace grew less and less. It was such a vague hope, not concerned with repentance of sin at all, but wholly comprehended in an ineffable longing for the fabled rest of Philip Hardman's preaching. She had heard no further word of it, and she was beginning to doubt if she had heard aright that night when the sweetness of the words had left a tiny germ of hope behind.
The Reverend Mr. Fletcher was also sorely troubled. His reputation as a revivalist was at stake. The eyes of the village were upon him. It is true that he had had a great measure of success. Every night the anxious-seat had been filled with weeping women. Ossie Annie Abbie Maria White had waxed fairly hysterical as she avowed her sins; Ann Lemon had howled forth a lengthy lamentation of her wickedness; Sol Disney had professed conversion, after "resisting the workings of the spirit within him for twenty-seven years," as he testified. But all this garnered grain was but as tares in the sight of the Reverend Fletcher because of that one stubborn thistle that refused to bow its head to the Scriptural sickle.
But the Reverend Fletcher was a strategist as well as a fighter. He recalled what Mrs. Deans had said regarding Myron's inordinate love for her child, and, remembering, resolved to win Myron Holder's soul despite herself.
With this resolution strong within him, he took his place for the last time before a Jamestown audience. It ought to have been very gratifying to the ministerial eye—that audience—for all the village was there. All—save with one notable exception. Clem Humphries' place before Mrs. Deans' was vacant, and never again would he vex that worthy woman's soul by his presence in the Jamestown Tabernacle. Clem had left Jamestown. The night before this last meeting Clem, willing to sustain his role of a religious individual, rose in his place and in sepulchral tones asked for the prayers of the congregation. It is probable that such a request was never so promptly granted before, for hardly had he resumed his seat before Ann Lemon was upon her feet.
Always voluble, Ann had no difficulty in finding words wherewith to address the Lord, which she proceeded to do upon Clem's behalf, as follows: "O Lord," she commenced. "save this sinful man who seeks Thy aid! You know what he is, O Lord! You know his pretences, his hypocrisy, his sinfulness; but save him, for You can! You know what a sinful man he is, far beyond any hope of good in this world; but, oh, save him! You know he drinks, putting an enemy into his mouth to steal away his soul! You know he lies, and is lazy, and is a Sabbath-breaker, spending in sinful sport the hours when he should worship Thee! You know he makes his religion just a cloak for his deceit! You know all this, for nothing is hid from Thee! You know he oppressed the widow all last winter; but save him, Lord, for You can! Save him now, whilst he seeks Thy aid! You know he did it for his own ends, to make people believe in his goodness; but save him now—now, O Lord, when he can't get out! Save him in spite of himself—make him indeed one of Your sheep!"