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the unconscious skill of musical instinct。 The simple things she
said seemed like novelties； as a melody strikes us with a new
feeling when we hear it sung by the pure voice of a boyish
chorister； the quiet depth of conviction with which she spoke
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seemed in itself an evidence for the truth of her message。 He saw
that she had thoroughly arrested her hearers。 The villagers had
pressed nearer to her； and there was no longer anything but grave
attention on all faces。 She spoke slowly； though quite fluently；
often pausing after a question； or before any transition of ideas。
There was no change of attitude； no gesture； the effect of her
speech was produced entirely by the inflections of her voice； and
when she came to the question； “Will God take care of us when we
die？” she uttered it in such a tone of plaintive appeal that the tears
came into some of the hardest eyes。 The stranger had ceased to
doubt； as he had done at the first glance； that she could fix the
attention of her rougher hearers； but still he wondered whether
she could have that power of rousing their more violent emotions；
which must surely be a necessary seal of her vocation as a
Methodist preacher； until she came to the words； “Lost！—
Sinners！” when there was a great change in her voice and manner。
She had made a long pause before the exclamation； and the pause
seemed to be filled by agitating thoughts that showed themselves
in her features。 Her pale face became paler； the circles under her
eyes deepened； as they did when tears half…gather without falling；
and the mild loving eyes took an expression of appalled pity； as if
she had suddenly discerned a destroying angel hovering over the
heads of the people。 Her voice became deep and muffled； but there
was still no gesture。 Nothing could be less like the ordinary type of
the Ranter than Dinah。 She was not preaching as she heard others
preach； but speaking directly from her own emotions and under
the inspiration of her own simple faith。
But now she had entered into a new current of feeling。 Her
manner became less calm； her utterance more rapid and agitated；
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as she tried to bring home to the people their guilt their wilful
darkness； their state of disobedience to God—as she dwelt on the
hatefulness of sin； the Divine holiness； and the sufferings of the
Saviour； by which a way had been opened for their salvation。 At
last it seemed as if； in her yearning desire to reclaim the lost
sheep； she could not be satisfied by addressing her hearers as a
body。 She appealed first to one and then to another； beseeching
them with tears to turn to God while there was yet time； painting
to them the desolation of their souls； lost in sin； feeding on the
husks of this miserable world； far away from God their Father； and
then the love of the Saviour； who was waiting and watching for
their return。
There was many a responsive sigh and groan from her fellow…
Methodists； but the village mind does not easily take fire； and a
little smouldering vague anxiety that might easily die out again
was the utmost effect Dinah’s preaching had wrought in them at
present。 Yet no one had retired； except the children and “old
Feyther Taft；” who being too deaf to catch many words； had some
time ago gone back to his ingle…nook。 Wiry Ben was feeling very
uncomfortable； and almost wishing he had not come to hear
Dinah； he thought what she said would haunt him somehow。 Yet
he couldn’t help liking to look at her and listen to her； though he
dreaded every moment that she would fix her eyes on him and
address him in particular。 She had already addressed Sandy Jim；
who was now holding the baby to relieve his wife； and the big soft…
hearted man had rubbed away some tears with his fist； with a
confused intention of being a better fellow； going less to the Holly
Bush down by the Stone…pits； and cleaning himself more regularly
of a Sunday。
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In front of Sandy Jim stood Chad’s Bess； who had shown an
unwonted quietude and fixity of attention ever since Dinah had
begun to speak。 Not that the matter of the discourse had arrested
her at once； for she was lost in a puzzling speculation as to what
pleasure and satisfaction there could be in life to a young woman
who wore a cap like Dinah’s。 Giving up this inquiry in despair； she
took to studying Dinah’s nose； eyes； mouth； and hair； and
wondering whether it was better to have such a sort of pale face as
that； or fat red cheeks and round black eyes like her own。 But
gradually the influence of the general gravity told upon her； and
she became conscious of what Dinah was saying。 The gentle tones；
the loving persuasion； did not touch her； but when the more
severe appeals came she began to be frightened。 Poor Bessy had
always been considered a naughty girl； she was conscious of it； if it
was necessary to be very good； it was clear she must be in a bad
way。 She couldn’t find her places at church as Sally Rann could；
she had often been tittering when she “curcheyed” to Mr。 Irwine；
and these religious deficiencies were accompanied by a
corresponding slackness in the minor morals； for Bessy belonged
unquestionably to that unsoaped lazy class of feminine characters
with whom you may venture to “eat an egg； an apple； or a nut。” All
this she was generally conscious of； and hitherto had not been
greatly ashamed of it。 But now she began to feel very much as if
the constable had come to take her up and carry her before the
justice for some undefined offence。 She had a terrified sense that
God； whom she had always thought of as very far off； was very
near to her； and that Jesus was close by looking at her； though she
could not see him。 For Dinah had that belief in visible
manifestations of Jesus； which is common among the Methodists；
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and she communicated it irresistibly to her hearers： she made
them feel that he was among them bodily； and might at any
moment show himself to them in some way that would strike
anguish and penitence into their hearts。
“See！” she exclaimed； turning to the left； with her eyes fixed on
a point above the heads of the people。 “See where our blessed
Lord stands and weeps and stretches out his arms towards you。
Hear what he says： ‘How often would I have gathered you as a hen
gathereth her chickens under her wings； and ye would not！’ 。 。 。
and ye would not；” she repeated； in a tone of pleading reproach；
turning her eyes on the people again。 “See the print of the nails on
his dear hands and feet。 It is your sins that made them！ Ah！ How
pale and worn he looks！ He has gone through all that great agony
in the garden； when his soul was exceeding sorrowful even unto
death； and the great drops of sweat fell like blood to the ground。
They spat upon him and buffeted him； they scourged him； they
mocked him； they laid the heavy cross on his bruised shoulders。
Then they nailed him up。 Ah； what pain！ His lips are parched with
thirst； and they mock him stil