It was a simple halting prayer, and not all those in the room heard it clearly.

The words were not always fitly chosen; but as the prayer neared its close,--and it was a short prayer at the most,--there came strength and courage into the voice as it asked for grace for "the brother among us who has shared our sufferings and lightened our burdens, and who has cleaved to us as a brother, but whose heart is drawn away from us by ties of blood and kinship"; and then the voice sank lower and lower as though in shame at its boldness, and hushed in a tremulous Amen.
No one spoke for a moment, and as Sycamore Ridge looked up from the floor, its eyes turned instinctively toward Martin Culpepper.

He felt the question that was in the hearts about him, and slowly, to the wonder of all, he rose.

He had a beautiful deep purring voice, and when he opened his eyes, they seemed to look into every pair of eyes in the throng.

There were tears on his face and in his voice as he spoke.