During the silence that immediately followed, Walden stood erect in the pulpit, looking down upon the people.  He saw Maryllia’s face,—­ he saw all the eyes of her London friends fixed on him with a more or less critical and supercilious stare,—­he saw his own flock’ waiting for his first word with their usual air of respectful attention,—­every small point and detail in his surroundings became suddenly magnified to his sight,—­even the little rose in old Josey Letherbarrow’s smock caught his eye with an almost obtrusive flare.  The blithe soft carol of the birds outside sounded close and loud,—­ the buzzing of a bumble-bee that had found its way into the church and was now bouncing fussily against a sunlit window, in its efforts to pass through what seemed to itself clear space, made quite an abnormal noise.  His heart beat heavily,—­he fancied he could hear it thudding in his breast,—­then, all at once, an inflow of energy rushed upon him as though the ‘fiery tongues’ of which Adam Frost had spoken, were in very truth descending upon him.  Maryllia’s face!  There it was—­so winsome, so bright, and proud and provocative in its every feature,—­and the old French damask roses growing in her garden borders could not show a prettier colour than her cheeks!  He lifted his hands.  “Let us pray!”

The villagers all obediently dropped on their knees.  The Manor ‘house-party’ politely bent their heads.

“Supreme Creator of the Universe, without Whose power and permission no thought is ever generated in the brain of Thy creature, man; Be pleased to teach me, Thy unworthy servant, Thy will and law this day, that I may speak to this congregation even as Thou shalt command, without any care for myself or my words, but in entire submission to Thee and Thy Holy Spirit!  Amen.”

He rose.  The congregation rose with him.  Some of the village folks exchanged uneasy glances with one another.  Was their beloved ‘Passon’ quite himself?  He looked so very pale,—­his eyes were so unusually bright,—­and his whole aspect so more than commonly commanding.  Almost nervously they fumbled with their Bibles as he gave out the text:—­“The twenty-sixth verse of the sixteenth chapter of the Gospel according to St. Matthew.”

He paused, and then, as was his usual custom, patiently repeated—­ “The sixteenth chapter of the Gospel according to St. Matthew, twenty-sixth verse.”  Again he waited, while the subdued rustling of pages and turning over of books continued,—­and finally pronounced the words—­“What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?” Here he closed the Testament, leaning one hand upon it.  He had resolved to speak ‘extempore,’ just as the mood moved him, and to make his discourse as brief as possible,—­a mere twelve minutes’ sermon.  For he knew that his ordinary congregation were more affected by a sense of restlessness and impatience than they themselves realised, and that such strangers as were present were of a temperament more likely to be bored, than interested.