"Come home, come home," sang out the wonderful voices. And John Morgan, still with no intention of going in, yet impelled by a force which he no more understood than he understood his own soul, stepped forward and followed the young man into the crowded church. The singing ceased, and the minister arose and immediately announced his text, "Friend, how camest thou in hither, not having on a wedding garment?"
The sentence was spoken so like a personal question that John looked about him, startled. Could it be possible that the man was addressing him—actually referring to his uncouth dress? This only for an instant; then he discovered that no one was paying the least attention to him, and that his dress, rough enough, was not worse than that of some by whom he was surrounded. But the preacher's manner was so new and strange, so unlike anything that John Morgan had ever met before, that, despite his own half-formed determination to get out of this, he stayed, and looked, and listened.
If I could I would tell you about that sermon; but sermons on paper, reported by a second party, are so very different from the words that come burning hot from the heart of the preacher, that on second thought I have deemed it unwise to make the attempt.
To John Morgan the entire service was like a revelation of mysteries. That which had seemed to him bewildering and contradictory, and finally actually exasperating in the plan of salvation, was made as clear as the sunlight, and one by one his own daring subterfuges were swept from him, so that before the sermon closed he felt that he indeed stood unclothed and speechless before the King. What next? Where should he go now? Whither flee? Was he not sufficiently wretched before? Had he need to feel these truths in order to make his condition less endurable?
The sermon closed, the few words of solemn prayer followed, and the choir took up the service. Strangely clear, at least to John's ears, were the voices that spoke the tenderly solemn words:—
"Oh, do not let the word depart,
And close thine eyes against the light;
Poor sinner, harden not thine heart;
Thou wouldst be saved, why not to-night?"
Among the singers he had no difficulty in singling out one face and voice. It was a voice of unusual sweetness and power, and it was a face that haunted him. He could not yet tell why. There she was, the fair young beauty who had given him his card. How strange it was that he had accepted her invitation after all! After the song, instead of the benediction which John expected, came another invitation.
"Now I know," said the preacher, "there are some in this room to-night who feel that they are without the wedding garment, and who believe that if the King should ask them why they would be speechless. Do not all such wish to settle the question? You mean to settle it some time. You do not mean to go up to that guest-chamber unclothed. Why not settle it to-night? Why not come up here, all of you who think the question unsettled, and who believe that it is important enough to be attended to? Come, and let us ask the Holy Spirit to help you to settle it to-night."
Did John Morgan intend ever to settle the question? He looked the thought, for almost the first time, squarely in the face. He believed that the man who had been speaking was in earnest. He believed that he knew what he was talking about. Somehow the network of unbelief in which this foolish young wanderer had intrenched himself so long would not bear the piercing light of one solemn Bible question, one gospel sermon; it slipped away from him and left him refugeless.
"Come," said the preacher. "Be men now and be women. Be worthy of your position as reasonable beings. Take steps toward the better understanding of this important matter. Do what you can. Rest assured that the King will see to it that the rest is done for you. Come now."