Rough men looked into one another’s wet faces, and were not ashamed. But some held their hats before their eyes. The girls in the front chairs moved away quietly, speaking to no person. But Lena separated herself from them, and disappeared in the dark. Job Slip had not arisen from his knees, and Mari, his wife, knelt by him. The woman’s expression was something touching to see, and impossible to forget. Captain Hap held a lantern up, and Bayard’s face shone out, rapt and pale. “Behold the Christman!” said the Italian, repeating his favorite phrase in a reverent whisper. The Professor of Theology heard it again; and repetition did not weaken its effect upon the Orthodox scholar. He removed his hat from his gray head. His wife held her delicate handkerchief to her eyes. Helen, struggling with herself, was pale with emotion. The Professor tried to speak. “It is not,” he said, “precisely a doctrinal discourse, and his theology”-- The Professor checked himself. “It is written,” he said, “that the common people heard HIM gladly. And it must be admitted that our dear young friend, His servant, seems to command that which--men older and--sounder than he, would give their lives--and fame--to--” But there he choked, and tried to say no more. * * * * * There ought to have been a moon that night, and the electric jets at the crest of the beach had not been lighted. By the special request of the preacher, or by the forethought of the police, in view, perhaps, of the unusual size of the crowd, the lights now sprang out. The throng dispersed slowly. The dark sea formed a sober background to the mass of quietly moving figures. The fishermen, with one foot on their dories, leaped in, and pushed off; scattered crews gathered gently, and rowed soberly back to their schooners. Groups collected around the preacher, waiting their turns for a word from his lips, or a touch from his hand. It was evident that he was very tired, but he refused himself to no one. The summer people walked away softly. They passed through Angel Alley on their way to take the electric car. They looked up thoughtfully at the illuminated words swinging over their heads in fire of scarlet and white:-- “THE LOVE OF CHRIST.” As she passed by the door of the mission, Helen was recognized by some of the women and children, who surrounded her affectionately, begging for some little service at her hands. It seemed to be desired that she should play or sing to them. While she stood, hesitating, between her father and her mother, Bayard himself, with a group of fishermen around him, came up Angel Alley. “I will see that she is safely taken home, Professor, if you care to let her stay,” he said. “We won’t keep her--perhaps half an hour? Will that do? The people like to hear her sing; it helps to keep them out of the street.” “Mr. Bayard will look after her, Haggai,” replied Mrs. Carruth wearily. “I see no objections, do you?”