He put his hands over his face and tried to control his growing agitation. By an effort, he succeeded in calming himself and, as if by common consent, after a moment of silence which seemed all the more strange following that sudden outburst of eager questions, the company was still while Mr. Maxwell put their questions to Martha.

The girl sat now with her hands folded, her eyes looking at Mr. Maxwell with deep seriousness and a quiet assurance in her answers that caused her eager listeners greater acceptance than the noisiest assertions.

“What happened first?”

“He appeared right in the middle of our meeting and spoke to us.”

“How did he appear? What did he look like?”

“I didn’t notice him come in. He was just there.”

Martha was naturally slow in her speech. Mrs. Maxwell sometimes said it was her one fault. In reality, it was not a fault; it was simply a habit that went with her phlegmatic character. To the intensely eager listeners around her, however, she seemed to be unusually slow in answering the second question.

“I don’t believe I can tell.”

“You can’t tell how he looked? But you saw him, and you are sure he was Jesus?”

“I only know he looked”—Martha spoke with painful slowness—“he looked just like a common man, and at the same time, different.”

“What did he say?” Mr. Maxwell asked, thinking it best to come back to the other question later.

“He comforted us,” said Martha, so simply that a deep silence followed.

“But what did he say?”

“He said how glad he was to know about our church, and he praised all the good it was doing. And he mentioned the First Church, and spoke your name, Mr. Maxwell, and a lot of other names in the First Church, such as Mrs. Maxwell, and Mrs. Page, and Mr. and Mrs. Clyde, and Miss Virginia, and the new assistant, Mr. . . .”

“Stanton,” said Mr. Maxwell as his eyes glowed.

“Yes, Mr. Stanton. He seemed to know all of you. And Mr. Norman and Mr. Powers. He said beautiful words about all of you. He didn’t blame the church for anything, just praised its great work.” There was another period of silence in the library while Martha sat looking wistfully at Mr. Maxwell.

“What else did he do? What else did he say?”

“That was about all.”

“And you can’t tell us how he looked?”

“No, sir. Not very well. I don’t think I thought of it.”

“But how do you know the person you saw was Jesus? Did he do any miracles?”

“Miracles?”

“Yes. Wonderful works. How did he try to prove he was Jesus? How do you know it?”

“After the meeting, Jesus spoke to me and told me things about my life in Chicago ten years ago. And he mentioned Loreen. He said he knew her.”

Virginia broke out with a cry as she stretched her hands toward Martha. “He mentioned Loreen?”

“He did, Miss Page. And he said she was happy where she was.”