Their eyes were all on the old man's face.

In the straining silence his mouth opened--but only for a moment--while his tongue wetted his parched lips.
A man by the pulpit-stairs shuffled his feet.

A sigh passed through the Chapel as he rose and relaxed the tension.

It was Jacky Pascoe.
He stepped up to the Squire, and, laying a hand on his shoulder, said, gently, persuasively, yet so clearly that Honoria could hear every word: "Try, brother.

Keep on trying.