The “Row” put up shutters, and went home—or at least got away from business.
Business, everywhere, was at a standstill. By eleven o’clock most of the city houses were closed. Some of the banks never opened at all. Throgmorton Street and the Stock Exchange were in a state of dazed incredulity. A few members were missing, and these were known to be “Expectants” of the Translation.
“Salvation S——, is gone!” some one called out.
“Aye!” cried another, “I’d give all I possess, or ever hoped to possess, to be where he is now. I remember how he tried and prayed to persuade me once to——”
There was a rush of members across “The Floor” at that moment. Some one had a proposition to make, namely a trip to 101 Queen Victoria Street, to see if there were any Salvationists left there. A little band, about a dozen, responded, and the silk-hatted, excited little crowd swept away on their curious quest.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
“HALLELUJAH LASS.”
There was one “Hallelujah Lass,” in the front shop, at the “Headquarters.” She was bonnetless, but the big, navy-blue head-dress laid on a glass show-case. She wore a finely-knitted crimson jersey and braided blue skirt. Her eyes were red with weeping. She was strangely distraught. There was no lilt of the song upon her lips:—
“Oh! the peace my Saviour gives,