He had begun a great work.

His words had been words of fire, and the flames of them had spread so that in a little while every sinner in Zion should burn in them and be purified.

Even the leaders--a great wave of exultation surged through him at this thought--even Brigham had felt the glow, and henceforth would be a fiercer Lion of the Lord to resist the Godless Gentile.
Long after sensation had left his body his thoughts were rushing in this fever of realisation, while his chilled hands made new in the Kingdom such sinners as came there repenting.
Not until night fell did the hymns cease and the crowd dwindle away.

The air grew colder, and he began to feel pain again, the water cutting against his legs like a blade.

Little groups were now hurrying off in the darkness, and the last Saint he had baptised was standing for the moment, chill and dripping, on the bank.
Seeing there was no one else to come, he staggered out of the stream where he had stood for three hours, finding his feet curiously clumsy and uncontrollable.