Compassion softened every lineament.

Still his eye of power held me down.

It said, "be quiet, be calm,--I am near, be not afraid." "I wish I could get you a glass of water," said he, in a low voice, for I suppose I looked deadly pale; "but it would be impossible I fear in this crowd,--the aisles are impenetrable." "Thank you," I answered, "there is no need,--but if I could only leave." I looked despairingly at the masses of living beings on every side, crowding the pews, filling the aisles, standing on the window-sills, on the tops of the pews, leaning from the gallery,--and felt that I was a prisoner.

The sultry air of August, confined in the chapel walls, and deprived of its vital principle by so many heaving lungs, weighed oppressively on mine.

I could feel behind me the breathing of the lips of slander, and it literally seemed to scorch me.