"The clerk will count."
There was an awkward silence.
"One hundred and sixty-three," the colorless man announced presently.
"All opposed, same sign." Burbeck's adherents arose en masse at the motion of the Elder's arm, which was as involuntary as it was injudicial.
The clerk did not count. It was unnecessary. "The motion is lost," he said to the presiding officer.
"The resolution is lost," announced Elder Burbeck loudly, in tones that quickened with eagerness. "The question now recurs upon the original resolution."
Erect, poised, feeling a sense of elation that he was now to let loose the wrath of God upon a recreant shepherd of the flock, the Elder stood for a moment with his eyes sweeping over the whole congregation, and taking in every detail of the picture; the disheartened, defeated group behind Hampstead, the flushed, determined face of the minister, the defiant blaze in the eyes of the rosy-faced young person by his side,—who was this strange woman, anyway?—and then his own well-marshalled loyal forces, who to-night played the part of the avenging hosts of Jehovah!
Up even into the gallery the Elder's eyes wandered with satisfaction. These galleries should see that All People's would not suffer itself to be put to shame before the world. Something centered his eye for a moment upon Rollie. His son was gazing intently, leaning forward with a hand reached out until it rested on the balcony rail. Then the Elder's eye returned to the lower floor and to the mission now about to be accomplished.
"Are you ready for the question?" he inquired, with forced deliberation, enjoying the suspense before its inevitable outcome of satisfied justice.
"Question! Question!" came the insistent calls.