Mr. Maxwell had risen with all the people on the platform and, calm but white-faced in the presence of what seemed a disaster of unparalleled proportions, had raised his hand and began to cry to the people to trust in the great goodness of God, when the lights in the great dome suddenly went out and total darkness fell upon the bewildered people.

Then a cry of panic arose. Not all in that room were Christians. Many hundreds had come from curiosity to see and hear. Men and women of wealth and fashion, men and women who hated and feared him, had come that night. Those whose selfish schemes had been rebuked were there, and now their souls shrieked out in desperate fear of an unheard of, unthinkable calamity that was thrusting them into the very jaws of death.

Cries and frenzied appeals rose. Hundreds struggled to reach the entrances. Cries came from the exits. “The Woolworth Tower? Has it fallen? The whole city will be ruined!”

There was a roaring of the elements. Tortured battling of the monumental buildings of the city as they groaned and swayed together! Over all, there was a total blackness that seemed part of the solid mountain of wind that smote the pygmy little houses of men as if it would strive to make proud New York a vast heap of ruins!

And then a new cry rose, a cry of a woman’s voice—Martha’s—rising over all the human fear, strong and glad and free.

“Jesus is here! Jesus is here!”

Yes, there he stood in the very center of the Hall where he had been all the evening—an average man, only different—surrounded by representatives of a dozen nationalities, one with their common humanity, identified with their sins and sorrows and joys and struggles and redemption through all the long centuries.

There he stood as Martha cried out, a glow of light about his tall, calm figure, his hand raised, a smile of majestic power on his lips, Master of the people and of the world, unafraid and Lord of all!

The people all turned toward that glowing, towering, lighted figure. Was it a second Transfiguration?

He spoke, and with the first word the roar of the wind seemed to abate. What was it he said?

The eternal verities cannot be destroyed. The proud city might be laid low, but nothing can ever wipe out the spirit of man. The things for men to strive after are love and Christianity and the Father God.

And then what was he pleading for, as the storm ceased and the people stood there awed beyond all measure?