Then he turned, with the child still in his arms, the mother following. Stanton, Virginia, Maxwell, and a group of ministers, all bearing marks of the frightful scene through which they had passed, followed, too, as Jesus walked along to Maxwell’s house through an opening quietly made for them by the people—people who were dazed and smitten into silence.

Never in all the experiences of their lives had they witnessed such an event. And it was only when Jesus had disappeared that the people began to disperse after seeing that those who were seriously injured had been properly cared for.

When afterward the facts were all told, it was proved that the student groups were not responsible for the things that happened there in front of the church that day. A few of the rougher, more dissipated sort, who had been enraged at what Jesus had said at the Assembly, had joined in the brutality of the hour, but for the most part the students, courageously and with noble dignity, had defended Jesus from actual blows struck at him as he tried to make his way through the dense and panic-stricken crowd.

Those who were chiefly responsible were groups of lawless men who had come in from neighboring towns, gatherings of thugs who had for several days been prowling the streets of Raymond, attracted by the unusual excitement of Jesus’s presence there—the same rabble that springs up suddenly in almost any manufacturing center on occasion of a wreck or a fire or a flood.

In all that wild madness, no one had been killed. Men were asking themselves as they went back to their business or their homes, speaking in whispers, whether miraculous power had been exerted that day. Hearts beat fast at the memory of what they had seen and heard. And the excitement of the press representatives mounted every moment with increasing intensity. What manner of person was this? They had come, most of them, to report a story of some faker. But what was the truth?

Stanton parted from Virginia at Dr. West’s. The doctor had remained at the scene of the mob to be of service to those who were injured. Stanton was bloody, with torn clothing, a deep gash across his cheek, and as he turned to go into the doctor’s doorway, he smiled at the sight he imagined of himself.

Virginia was almost as “presentable.” Her hat had been torn off and lost. Her hair was all over her face and shoulders. Her clothing was rent, and someone in the mad whirl of arms and hands had smeared her face with a wide streak of dirt.

They looked seriously at each other for a moment, then laughed. Out of the fullness of their hearts they laughed, not at each other, but together. If the sidewalk had not been crowded with people, what would they have said?

“I cannot thank you here,” Virginia said hurriedly. “What do people say when their lives are saved?”

“I do not know,” Stanton said in his deep, strong voice, softened to a whisper that lingered in Virginia’s heart. “I wish I did. For you have given me life today.”