"And I have never owned Him as my King! I tell you I could not speak those words. It is mockery. And, oh! How much of it I have done. It is all mockery; I do not mean any of it."
And she buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears.
Utter, silent consternation took possession of us. Not one seemed to know what word to offer.
But there was more than consternation on the face of Handel Beethoven Smith, and he was the first to regain power of speech as he turned to move away:
"Well, I had supposed myself familiar with all the forms of hysteria in which lady singers can indulge, but this is new!"
The minister had come to offer sympathy, but had been struck dumb by the singer's outcry. But now he rallied:
"My dear young lady, there is a remedy for your trouble. He is ready to blot out all the past. Will you give your voice to Him for the future?"
The rest of us were moving away, but the singer suddenly arrested us again. She seemed not to have heard the minister; but at that moment she caught sight of the wistful old face of Auntie Barber.
"Auntie—Auntie Barber," she said, springing up, and leaning over the choir rail, "Wait! I want to see you." And then she vanished from our sight.