As we neared the Beech Street Church, we found a crowd of persons hurrying in the same direction. Mrs. Flaxman expressed her astonishment; since she supposed Mr. Lathrop's flock to be small in number, and humble in its class of adherents. When we reached the door, a glance inside revealed the fact that it was already comfortably filled, and where all the approaching throng were to be bestowed was a mystery. Daniel Blake was one of the ushers. His face brightened at sight of us. Nodding respectfully to Mr. Winthrop, he led us to one of the best seats in the house. I glanced around at the large congregation, and was impressed by the solemn hush pervading the place, and the expectant look on the faces of the worshippers. Mr. Bowen was sitting near and I wanted Mr. Winthrop to see and know him; so I took out my pencil and wrote on the leaf of my hymn book directing his attention to my friend. He looked keenly at the pale, rapt face, and then with a scarce perceptible smile turned to me.

The church kept filling; and while yet the people were streaming in, the minister arose, and after a brief, but exceedingly solemn invocation, gave out the hymn. In an alcove just behind the preacher's stand was a cabinet organ, and some half dozen singers, male and female; but once the singing had got well under way, organ and choir were as though they were not; nearly every one in the house was singing save myself and Mr. Winthrop. I kept silent the more keenly to enjoy the heavy volume of sound which impressed me as more reverent praise than any church music I had ever heard. I turned to Mr. Winthrop. He too was looking over the dense mass of humanity with a curious intentness, as if here were some entirely new experience. When the hymn was ended there was a moment's hush after the congregation had bowed in reverent act of worship and then the preacher's voice rose in earnest pleading. I noticed it was better modulated than at Mrs. Blake's funeral, possibly the effort to make himself heard by the scattered groups on that occasion caused the difference. My eyes filled with tears, and a strange trembling seized me as the petitions grew more earnest; the prayer was short, yet so much was comprehended in it. The Scripture lesson was read in very natural, but also solemn manner, without any attempt at rhetorical display, yet bringing out the subtle meanings of the passage in a peculiarly realistic way. The sermon was delivered in much the same manner; but in every word and gesture there seemed a reserve power and dignity, while the thoughts were strong and original; and better than all, they made one wish to be purer, more unselfish, in fact Christ-like.

The place seemed pervaded by some mysterious influence never experienced by me before in any church. The sermon was ended at last; the Judgment Day was the theme; all the old horror that used haunt me in childhood, when I thought upon this awful period in my soul's future, came back to me as the preacher with a power scarce short of inspiration pictured that day. I could hear Mrs. Flaxman's subdued weeping while in every part of the house, tears and low sobs added to the solemnity of the scene. Mr. Winthrop sat with folded arms and set stern face, apparently unmoved; but the intent watchfulness of his face as he followed the preacher assured me that the sermon was making an impression. A hymn was sung when the sermon was ended, and then all who wished to remain to the after-meeting were assured of a welcome, no matter to what church they belonged, or if aliens from all.

I scarce dared lift my eyes to Mr. Winthrop lest he might be preparing to leave; but to my relief he sat calmly down along with nearly the entire congregation, and then the other meeting began first with a number of prayers, afterward with speaking by men and women all over the house. When Mr. Bowen prayed, there was a solemn hush as if the people were almost holding their breath lest some word might be missed. I could not wonder that men's hearts were melted by the power and tenderness of his utterances. Strange that God should hide such gifts away for years when the world was in such need of workers. Along through the meeting there were occasional snatches of song, deep, resonant melody that uplifted the heart as it welled up from glad, thankful souls. Men and women rose, for the most part with modest calmness, and told what God had done for them, and what they still expected from our Father as loving as He is rich. I listened spellbound. Some of them had a story to tell so like my own that my heart was thrilled at times. I wanted to tell what God had done for me, but before that crowded house, and worse than all, in presence of Mr. Winthrop, I found it impossible; but just at the close the minister, with a kindly thoughtfulness for which I blessed him said: "There may be some one here who loves Christ but has not courage to tell us so. If they are willing to witness for Him we extend them the privilege of doing this by merely rising to their feet."

My heart beat painfully and my head swam, but forgetful of my guardian's displeasure, and the concentrated gaze of some hundreds of eyes, I stood up. I heard a heartfelt "praise God," from the direction of Mr. Bowen's pew, and then there was a gentle rustle in every part of the house, and scores stood up, Mrs. Flaxman among the rest. The meeting closed quietly, and in the same solemn hush the people departed.

Mr. Winthrop stood, waiting for the crowd to leave, not seeing the many curious glances bent our way. Presently the minister was passing our pew; he paused uncertainly, wishing to speak, I knew from the expression of his face, but waiting for Mr. Winthrop first to make some sign of recognition. I stood near enough to reach my hand; my act speedily followed by Mrs. Flaxman; and then with rare grace and courtesy Mr. Winthrop extended his hand, saying: "I have to thank you for your very faithful sermon. I did not know the present generation of preachers dared talk so plainly to their hearers."

"Perhaps you do not go in the way of hearing them; the race of heroes is not yet extinct. Not that I reckon myself a hero," he added, with an amused smile at the slip of tongue.

"The rack and flames are not necessary to prove one a hero or martyr. I dare say many who do not choose to live for their religion would die for it if it came in their way to do so."

"Yourself among the number, I believe, Mr. Winthrop," the minister said, with a penetrating look, that Mr. Winthrop returned in kind.

"I would take it as a favor if you would dine with us some day soon, and give me an evening of your society. We might have some topics in common to discuss," Mr. Winthrop said, to the surprise of each of us, Mr. Lathrop included. "Possibly you do not make such engagements on the Sabbath. Pardon me, I had forgotten you were a conscientious man," he said, after a short pause, seeing Mr. Lathrop hesitate.

"It is not my usual custom, but nevertheless, I accept your invitation with pleasure."

Mr. Bowen was waiting to speak with his minister, it may be hoping to exchange greeting with us as well. I whispered softly to Mr. Winthrop:

"Would you like to speak to Mr. Bowen?"

"If it is your desire, I will do so."

"I would like you to speak with him very much."

I made my way quickly to Mr. Bowen's side. He was standing a little way down the aisle from us. The grasp of his hand and glance of his eye were like a benediction.

"I was glad to see you here," he said, in his quiet way, which meant more than extravagant protestations from others. "There was bread for you, I think."

"Yes, and wine; better far than human lips ever quaffed."

"The new wine of our Father's Kingdom," he said, softly, with such a glad light in his eyes reminding me of some spiritual illumination the flesh could not wholly conceal.

Mr. Winthrop soon joined us, and never did I feel more grateful to my guardian than when I watched his gracious bearing towards my friend. If he had been some noted literary gentleman, he could not have been more genial and polite.

"My ward has talked so much about you that, out of pure curiosity, I came to see and hear you to-night," he said, as they walked side by side towards the door. A faint flush passed over Mr. Bowen's face, but he made no reply. I was much better pleased than if he had exclaimed against his own poor abilities, as some would have done, or rhapsodized over his indebtedness to me. I knew from the expression of Mr. Winthrop's face that he was pleased with him, and on our way home, he said: "You are like a magnet, Medoline. You draw the best types of humanity to you as the lodestone does the steel."

"You like Mr. Bowen, then?"

"I do not know him well enough yet for that; but he has genius. Da Vinci would have taken him for a model for the beloved disciple if he had lived in his day. I never saw a more spiritual face in any human being."

"He is like the disciple whom Jesus loved in one thing—he loves the Christ best of all."

"Was not that a wonderful meeting, Mr. Winthrop?" Mrs. Flaxman asked, after we had seated ourselves cosily by the bright fire in the drawing-room.

"I do not profess to be a judge in such matters."

"I think a heathen would have felt some before unknown spiritual influence there to-night, if he had understood our language," I exclaimed.

"Heathen and Christian alike are not so susceptible to spiritual influences as you, Medoline; so in harmony with the unseen and unknowable as you are getting to be."

"Religion cannot be classed with the unknowable. God only leaves us in uncertainty when we wilfully close our eyes to his teachings."

"You place no restrictions, then, on the benevolence of your Creator."

"I shall not make myself a different and narrower creed than the Bible provides."

"Men read the Bible and formulate creeds as opposite as the poles. The pendulum of their belief takes in not merely an arc, but the entire circle."

"I think they are wisest who leave creeds; I mean the non-essentials, to those who try to penetrate mysteries which, maybe, even the angels look upon as too sacred for them to explore, and just take what is necessary to make us Christ-like."

"My dear child, that is taking at a single bound faith's highest peak."

"I suppose the way-faring man, of whom the Bible speaks, does that. God may have different patents of nobility from us. I do not mean in the mere matter of birth, but of what, even to our dim vision, is vastly higher—the intellectual dower."

"Medoline tries very hard to assure herself that her Mill Road favorites are royalties in exile," Mr. Winthrop said, with a smile, turning to Mrs. Flaxman.

"I cannot say if she goes quite that far, but she certainly thinks that she has found among them some diamonds of the first water, though she cannot but acknowledge they lack the polishing touches to bring out more effectually their sparkle and brilliancy."

"I do not know if the best among them have suffered anything from the lack of the human lapidary's skill. He often, at the best, is a mere bungler, and while he makes sure to bring out the brilliancy, laps off other finer qualities the lack of which no spark or brilliancy can compensate," I replied, by no means convinced, and thinking all the time of Mrs. Le Grande who had certainly received plenty of polishing touches, but sadly lacked higher mental and moral qualities.

"A woman convinced against her will is of the same opinion still," Mr. Winthrop quoted, although addressing no one in particular.

"The author's real words are, 'A man convinced against his will,'" I retorted.

"In this case it is a woman, and a very determined, insistent little woman she is too," he replied.

I rose, and standing before my guardian, said, "I am not such a little woman, Mr. Winthrop, as you would make me believe. Actually I can look over Mrs. Flaxman's head."

"A perfect giantess, especially in defending the character of the poor and bereaved."

"If you had studied poor, hard-working people more, and books less, you would have found some of the rarest specimens of patience, and self-forgetfulness and fortitude, and oh, so many other beautiful characteristics, that you would long to strip off your proud ancestry and wealth, and become like them. They find it so much easier to be Christians—they are not bewildered by the pride of life and vanities that pall while they allure, and the perplexity of riches, and other ills the higher born are heir to."

"I sincerely hope you will not begin a new crusade, Medoline."

"Why, Mr. Winthrop, what do you mean?" I asked, surprised at the sudden turn of the conversation.

"What do I mean? You have begun it already. I only stipulate that you carry this crusade no farther."

"But I do not understand you. How then can I promise to obey your will?"

"The fashion is rapidly gaining ground for women to have some pet scheme of reform. A few of them have such ambition for publicity they take their pet scheme, and the platform, and go trailing over the land like comets. Now I do not wish you to join this motley crowd, though your heart does burn over the unacknowledged perfections of the poor."

"Surely, Mr. Winthrop, you do not insinuate there is the remotest possibility of such a thing, that I will go to lecturing," I said, with rising color.

"Have you not already begun the work? But I shall be very glad to have your promise that you will not seek a larger audience to listen to you than your present one."

"Are you in earnest?"

"I am certainly in earnest when I assure you it is my desire that you will not take up lecturing, or develop into a woman with a career."

I looked at him closely, and turning away, said, "Some day I hope to get wise enough to know when you are in earnest and when you are merely bantering me."

"I think your faculties in that respect are rapidly developing. You discovered before I did that it was merely badinage on Mr. Winthrop's part," Mrs. Flaxman said, genially.

"But, Mr. Winthrop," I said, turning to him once more, "is it right for you to judge those women so harshly who seize any honest way to get a hearing? I believe the majority of them are as much in earnest about their work as you are in any of your most cherished undertakings. Women more than men have an instinct to sacrifice themselves on the first genuine altar they meet with. One human being, especially, if he is apt to be cynical, can scarcely judge another justly."

"Are you not a little severe on me? but possibly you are correct," he said, with perfect good humor.

"I hope you will forgive me that unkind remark," I pleaded. "I am afraid, after all, it is no use for me to try to be good thoroughly and wholly. I can only be so in places."

"You must not despair yet. Much worse persons than you have developed into saints ultimately, if we can trust the calendar."

I smiled, although discomfited. "I wish you would try to be good with me. I am sure I would find it easier."

"Goodness too easily acquired is not apt to be of a very high quality. Better fight your own battles and gain your victories all by yourself," he said, with a smile as he left us for his study. My head was aching so severely that I concluded to try the effect of rest and sleep, to bring back my usual freedom from pain.