The preacher’s voice rose until it sounded like a trumpet blast. His eyes shone, and his face flushed with the fervor of his theme. Then followed, as rapidly as words could utter, a lurid, awful picture of hell and the day of judgment. Sobs and groans were heard in every part of the room. “Come--now--_now_!” he cried, “Now is the appointed time, now is the day of salvation. Come now; and as you rise pray God that in his mercy he may spare you strength and life to reach the penitent bench.”
Suddenly the preacher ceased talking. Stretching out his hands, he broke forth, with his splendid tenor voice, into the rousing hymn, with its spirited marching time:
[Musical score: Come ye sinners, poor and needy, Weak and wounded, sick and sore; Jesus ready stands to save you. Full of pity, love, and power.]
The whole congregation joined him. Everyone knew the words and the tune. It seemed a relief to the pent-up feelings to sing at the top of the voice. The chorus rose like a triumphal march:
[Musical score: Turn to the Lord, and seek salvation, Sound the praise of His dear name; Glory, honour, and salvation, Christ the Lord has come to reign.]
As the congregation sang the preacher in stentorian tones urged sinners to seek the Lord while he was yet to be found.
Yates felt the electric thrill in the air, and he tugged at his collar, as if he were choking. He could not understand the strange exaltation that had come over him. It seemed as if he must cry aloud. All those around him were much moved. There were now no scoffers at the back of the room. Most of them seemed frightened, and sat looking one at the other. It only needed a beginning, and the penitent bench would be crowded. Many eyes were turned on Macdonald. His face was livid, and great beads of perspiration stood on his brow. His strong hand clutched the back of the seat before him, and the muscles stood out on the portion of his arm that was bare. He stared like a hypnotized man at the preacher. His teeth were set, and he breathed hard, as would a man engaged in a struggle. At last the hand of the preacher seemed to be pointed directly at him. He rose tremblingly to his feet and staggered down the aisle, flinging himself on his knees, with his head on his arms, beside the penitent bench, groaning aloud.