“It is the most astounding event of my whole life, Miss Page. What ought we not to expect for the church from his presence?”

Virginia did not reply, and Mr. Stanton rose to go. “You will excuse me, Miss Page. I have much to do to prepare for tomorrow.” He paused, then added, “I would you to know, Miss Page, how much I appreciate coming to First Church. Of course I know its wonderful history, and the great part you and Mrs. Page and your brother and others have had in it. It will be a rare privilege to work in such an atmosphere.”

Virginia looked at the assistant pastor of the First Church with a grave, steady look, and said with the direct frankness so natural to her, “We are all delighted to have you in the church to help Mr. Maxwell and all of us. I—we—wish you every strength and blessing in it, Mr. Stanton.”

“Thank you,” Stanton said. He shook hands and went out.

When the door closed, Virginia went back to the library and stood there looking out of the window. It commanded a view of the walk pass the church. Stanton went by on this walk. What made her draw back a little as his tall figure passed? Did he turn for one moment, to look at the house before he went on? Virginia continued to stand in the shadow after he had disappeared, and was still there when Rachel came back down.

“Oh, Mr. Stanton has gone. He did not stay very long. Did you drive him away?”

“No. He had a good deal to do to prepare for tomorrow.”

“Ah, what a day it will be, Virginia! Do you not long for it?”

“Yes, and fear it also.”

“Let us not fear, but anticipate. I will sing, ‘Where He Leads Me, I Will Follow.’”

Rachel went over to the piano, and in the shadow there, sat down and sang while Virginia sat in the library, head bowed, new impulses stirring in her, new desires awakening. But she knew in her soul that, deepest and best of whatever might come, the greatest was this unthinkable coming into the world again of Jesus himself.

“Jesus is here,” she murmured as Rachel sang. And the refrain beat back and forth in her heart like a sweet, deep-toned bell.

The people of Raymond awoke to that remarkable Sunday in its history with one thought. Long before eight o’clock, the street in front of the First Church was thronged with people of all sorts. Automobiles were strung all along both sides and around the block. By the time the doors were opened, the crowd, which was more like a mob than anything else, poured in.

Mr. Maxwell’s people had remodeled the building during the last five years, increasing its seating capacity to two thousand five hundred. The Sunday school departments were in special rooms below. Owing to the unusual circumstances of the service, Maxwell had directed his Sunday school officers to plan their work so that as many of the children as possible could get into the morning service.