And all the while he was speaking, the minister leaded over the pulpit, his face growing more white and sad every moment.

But he made no movement to stop him, and the people sat smitten into breathless silence.

One other face, that of Rachel Winslow from the choir, stared white and intent down at the shabby figure with the faded hat.

Her face was striking at any time.

Under the pressure of the present unheard-of incident it was as personally distinct as if it had been framed in fire.
"I'm not an ordinary tramp, though I don't know of any teaching of Jesus that makes one kind of a tramp less worth saving than another.
Do you ?" He put the question as naturally as if the whole congregation had been a small Bible class.