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 scious in the slate-colored house. It was as if they, too, were forcing him back.

When they had finished the orgy of music and the Benediction was spoken, the usual stir was silenced suddenly by Emma's rich voice. She had risen to her feet at the back of the room and was standing with her hands clasped on the back of the chair before her.

"Brothers and sisters," she was saying, in a voice rich with emotion, "I know that all of you feel for me in the illness of my son. I have felt for some time that I should speak to you about him" (here, overcome by feeling, she coughed and hesitated) "to make an answer to the talk that has come to my ear from time to time. I feel that to-night—to-night is the time—the occasion ordained by God. I have very little to say. You know that his health has been wrecked forever by his work among our ignorant, sinful brothers in Africa. He is lying at the point of death. Your prayers have touched me to the depths of my heart, and if it is God's will, surely they will help towards his recovery." (Here she hesitated once more.) "People wondered why he came back. It was because his health was ruined. People wondered why he went into the Flats to work. It was because he wanted to know the life there. He has been through a great spiritual struggle. He fell ill because he was tormented by the wish to go back to his post, to those ignorant black men who live in darkness. If he recovers . . ." (her voice broke suddenly) "if he recovers . . . he can never go back. The doctors have told me that it would be nothing short of suicide. He has given his health, perhaps his life, in carrying forward our great purpose of sending the light to heathen." 