half an hour after, when she came out in a robe of white satin and silver lace, with a crimson cross on her breast, she was prophetess only, and her white forehead was high, her eyes were strange with dreaming.
Already the choir were chanting. They were starting with the Doxology, and it gave Elmer a feeling of doubt. Surely the Doxology was the end of things, not the beginning? But he looked impassive, the brooding priest, in frock coat and white bow tie, portly and funereal, as he moved magnificently through the choir and held up his arms to command silence for his prayer.
He told them of Sister Falconer and her message, of their plans and desires at Clontar, and asked for a minute of silent prayer for the power of the Holy Ghost to descend upon the tabernacle. He stood back—his chair was up-stage, beside the choir—as Sharon floated forward, not human, a goddess, tears thick in lovely eyes as she perceived the throng that had come to her.
"My dear ones, it is not I who bring you anything, but you who in your faith bring me strength!" she said shakily. Then her voice was strong again; she rose on the wave of drama.
"Just now, looking across the sea to the end of the world, I saw an omen for all of us—a fiery line written by the hand of God—a glorious shooting star. Thus he apprized us of his coming, and bade us be ready. Oh, are you ready, are you ready, will you be ready when the great day comes—"
The congregation was stirred by her lyric earnestness.
But outside there were less devout souls. Two workmen had finished polishing the varnished wooden pillars as the audience began to come. They slipped outside, on the promenade along the pier, and sat on the rail, enjoying the coolness, slightly diverted by hearing a sermon.
"Not a bad spieler, that woman. Puts it all over this guy Reverend Golding up-town," said one of the workmen, lighting a cigarette, keeping it concealed in his palm as he smoked.
The other tiptoed across the promenade to peer through the door, and returned mumbling, "Yuh, and a swell looker. Same time though, tell you how I feel about it: woman's all right in her place, but takes a real he-male to figure out this religion business."
"She's pretty good though, at that," yawned the first work-
