The event produced a profound sensation throughout the country. By the theory and the practice of Malagasy public life, the Queen had a perfect right to decide as she had done. But her subjects were not behind their sovereign. Public opinion had been rapidly ripening on the subject, and there was no hesitation as to the course that should be followed. The next day, all over Imérina, the private idols of villages and families were also brought forth: bundles of clothes and charms, round which the superstitious fears of many generations had clustered, were committed to the flames; and soon a little heap of ashes was all that remained of the outward symbols of a faith that had been held by the Malagasy races since their first fathers landed on the island. The revolt from the system was complete. From all quarters came the inquiry, “Whom does the Queen worship? How is that worship conducted? What are we to do?” From all quarters was heard the request, “Send us teachers: send us books.” Chapels were hastily erected all over the province, even in remote villages. And the resources of the native Churches, of the English Mission, and of the Mission Press, were taxed to the utmost to supply the nation’s wants. Profound as was the sensation produced by the burning of the idols abroad, it was not less deeply felt at home. The greatness of the event was discerned: its spiritual significance was instantly appreciated. No such event had occurred in the history of Christendom before: no such multitude of willing men and women had ever knocked for admission at the Church’s door in a single year. It was the fruit of the long and painful persecution of twenty-eight years. It was the fruit of the faithfulness of the martyrs, dead and living, upon whose sufferings and fidelity all Christendom had looked with sympathy. It was the answer to the thousands of prayers which those sufferings had called forth.