He had some of the tones of my father's voice, and when I shut my eyes I could have believed myself a child again.

So much he had got from his apprenticeship to the ministry.

I wondered vaguely what the good folks who had listened to him in churches and halls at home would think of him now.

But there was in the prayer more than the supplications of the quondam preacher.

There was a tone of arrogant pride, the pride of the man to whom the Almighty is only another and greater Lord of Hosts.