Then John Rem rose, tall, and, with a dignity no one thought he had, walked over and took his place at the sinner’s side, and begged that he might be permitted to speak for her. And, being asked by what right he claimed to make her defence, he answered sturdily:
“By the right of a husband,” and then went on in a strong and determined voice, “and I hope, sir, that I may take the place—I—”
But at that moment John Rem, notwithstanding his experiences, was suddenly in the midst of the most dramatic situation he had ever known.
Slowly every head of the three thousand in the hall drooped. He looked backward and forward, right and left, and saw not a face. Only bowed heads he saw—and silence. Not a sound. He heard the ticking of his watch. For the first time in his strenuous life something like terror possessed him. His face actually went pale.
“What is it?” he whispered to his wife.
“They are praying,” she whispered back.
“For us?”
“Yes.”
“Shall we go?”
“No. We must wait until they move.”