The shrill voice rose higher and higher until the broken phrases were almost a shriek. I felt Carter's hand sink into my arm. In his intensity he did not know that his grip was painful. None of us moved, but I heard a short gasp come from some one. And I knew that the eyes of the three were trying, like my own, to pierce the darkness. The voice died away to a sobbing whisper, then all became still. Above our heads the rain was dashing in sheets against the roof. Somewhere outside I heard the shrill wail of an automobile as the driver blew the horn. But within the church was only darkness and silence. Again there came a vivid flash of lightning, followed by the rumble of the thunder. As it died away the voice rose again—rose in a wailing cry: “A sign to thy servant. A sacrifice to thy power.” Silence again, in which I tried to figure out just where the man might be. That he was somewhere in the front of the church I knew, somewhere near the altar. But why the candle had been extinguished, and above all why he should stay in the darkness I could not tell. Of one thing I was certain. No sane man had been playing the organ. And the voice we had heard had tones and inflections which I had never heard in any normal person. Again came the voice. This time it was not so shrill, but far more serious—speaking with the tone of one who was lifted above the world by some mystical vision within them, and yet the tone and the words made me shudder. “Blood—will wipe away all sins. Blood—” the voice wailed. I heard a muttered “God” in a horrified voice from Carter. He half started to rise, only to fall back in his seat at Bartley's whispered command. The voice came again above the sound of the rain and the noise of the wind—the words came ringing down to us through the darkness: “Blood will wipe away all sins,” were the words chanted in a singsong voice. “Blood. A sacrifice upon the altar.” The voice died away. There came a muttering, the words so low that we could not hear a single one. For several moments it went on. Suddenly it ceased, and we heard the sound of some one stumbling down some steps—stumbling and half falling. Then came the sound of feet half running—running down the aisle of the church—running, yet stumbling and falling against the pews. At the sound Bartley whispered: “Down the stairs! Let the man get out on the lawn, and then follow him. Do not let him see us.” We groped our way up the short aisle, then down the stairs which led to the vestibule. Just as we reached the turn in the steps, we heard the man fumbling with the front door—heard him fling it open, and then followed the loud bang as the wind slammed it shut. With that we leaped down the remaining steps, across the hallway to the door. In a second some one had flung it open.