But in the crowd he saw two figures clearly--Jacky Pascoe and Squire Moyle; and the Bryanite's face was agitated and white in the infernal glare.
He had given an arm to the Squire, who was clearly the centre of the procession and tottered forward with jaws working and cavernous eyes.
"He's saved!" a voice shouted.
Others took up the cry.

"Saved!" "The Squire's saved!" "Saved to-night--saved to glory!" The Squire paused, still leaning on the Bryanite's arm.

While the procession swayed around him, he gazed across the gate as a man who had lost his bearings.

No glint of torchlight reached his cavernous eyes; but the sight of Mr.Raymond's surpliced figure standing behind Taff's shoulder in the full glare seemed to rouse him.

He lifted a fist and shook it slowly.
"Com'st along, sir!" urged the Bryanite.