"But what does it all mean? What is His power? Tell me, Oliver?"
He smiled back, shaking his head.
"Well, Markham said that it was his incorruption—that and his oratory; but that explains nothing."
"No, it explains nothing," said the girl.
"It is just personality," went on Oliver, "at least, that's the label to use. But that, too, is only a label."
"Yes, just a label. But it is that. They all felt it in Paul's House, and in the streets afterwards. Did you not feel it?"
"Feel it!" cried the man, with shining eyes. "Why, I would die for Him!"
They went back to the house presently, and it was not till they reached the door that either said a word about the dead old woman who lay upstairs.
"They are with her now," said Mabel softly. "I will communicate with the people."
He nodded gravely.
"It had better be this afternoon," he said. "I have a spare hour at fourteen o'clock. Oh! by the way, Mabel, do you know who took the message to the priest?"
"I think so."
"Yes, it was Phillips. I saw him last night. He will not come here again."
"Did he confess it?"
"He did. He was most offensive."
But Oliver's face softened again as he nodded to his wife at the foot of
the stairs, and turned to go up once more to his mother's room.
