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Laura was now in the house by the side of the bedridden Mary Jewell, waiting, confident, smiling, as she held the wasted hand on the coverlet. With her was a minister of the Baptist persuasion, who was swimming with the tide, and who approved of the Faith Healer’s immersions in the hot Healing Springs; also a medical student who had pretended belief in Ingles, and two women weeping with unnecessary remorse for human failings of no dire kind. The windows were open, and those outside could see. Presently, in a lull of the singing, there was a stir in the crowd, and then sudden loud greetings–

“My, if it ain’t Tim Denton! Jerusalem! You back, Tim!”

These and other phrases caught the ear of Laura Sloly in the sick-room. A strange look flashed across her face, and the depth of her eyes was troubled for a moment, as to the face of the old comes a tremor at the note of some long-forgotten song. Then she steadied herself and waited, catching bits of the loud talk which still floated toward her from without.

“What’s up? Some one getting married–or a legacy, or a saw-off? Why, what a lot of Sunday-go-to-meeting folks to be sure!” Tim laughed loudly.

After which the quick tongue of Nicolle Terasse: “You want know? Tiens, be quiet; here he come. He cure you body and soul, ver’ queeck–yes.”

The crowd swayed and parted, and slowly, bare head uplifted, face looking to neither right nor left, the Faith Healer made his way to the door of the little house. The crowd hushed. Some were awed, some were overpoweringly interested, some were cruelly patient. Nicolle Terasse and others were whispering loudly to Tim Denton. That was the only sound, until the Healer got to the door. Then, on the steps, he turned to the multitude.

“Peace be to you all, and upon this house,” he said, and stepped through the doorway.

Tim Denton, who had been staring at the face of the Healer, stood for an instant like one with all his senses arrested. Then he gasped and exclaimed, “Well, I’m eternally–!” and broke off with a low laugh, which was at first mirthful, and then became ominous and hard.

“Oh, magnificent!–magnificent!–jerickety!” he said into the sky above him.

His friends who were not “saved” closed in on him to find the meaning of his words, but he pulled himself together, looked blankly at them, and asked them questions. They told him so much more than he cared to hear that his face flushed a deep red–the bronze of it most like the color of Laura Sloly’s hair; then he turned pale. Men saw that he was roused beyond any feeling in themselves.

“‘Sh!” he said. “Let’s see what he can do.” With the many who were silently praying, as they had been bidden to do, the invincible ones leaned forward, watching the little room where healing–or tragedy–was afoot. As in a picture, framed by the window, they saw the kneeling figures, the Healer standing with outstretched arms. They heard his voice, sonorous and appealing, then commanding–and yet Mary Jewell did not rise from her bed and walk. Again, and yet again, the voice rang out, and still the woman lay motionless. Then he laid his hands upon her, and again he commanded her to rise.

There was a faint movement, a desperate struggle to obey, but Nature and Time and Disease had their way.

Yet again there was the call. An agony stirred the bed. Then another great Healer came between and mercifully dealt the sufferer a blow–Death has a gentle hand sometimes. Mary Jewell was bedridden still–and forever.

Like a wind from the mountains the chill knowledge of death wailed through the window and over the heads of the crowd. All the figures were upright now in the little room. Then those outside saw Laura Sloly lean over and close the sightless eyes. This done, she came to the door and opened it, and motioned for the Healer to leave. He hesitated, hearing the harsh murmur from the outskirts of the crowd. Once again she motioned, and he came. With a face deadly pale she surveyed the people before her silently for a moment, her eyes all huge and staring. Presently she turned to Ingles and spoke to him quickly in a low voice; then, descending the steps, passed out through the lane made for her by the crowd, he following with shaking limbs and bowed head.