Many of the congregation had doubtless come as far as she.  Men and women of all ages, and even children, were there.  Some, who it seemed had followed Finney from his last place of preaching, were talking excitedly concerning the work of God which he had wrought there.  On every face solemnity was written, and stories were being told of one and another who in his recent meetings had “fallen under the power of God.”

When Finney ascended the pulpit Susannah forgot all else.  The chapel was not well lighted, but the pulpit lamps shone upon him.  He had a smooth, strong face; his complexion was healthy and weather-beaten; his dark eyes flashed brightly under bushy brows.  His manner was calm; his style, even in prayer, was that of keen, terse argument; he spoke and behaved like a man who, having spent the emotional side of his nature in some private gust of passionate prayer, had come forth nerved to cool and determined action.

With her whole soul Susannah hung upon his every word, unreasonably expecting to find some new and unforeseen solution to the problems of her life.  He had pointed out a straight path to multitudes; she hoped that he could now show it to her.

The power of Finney’s preaching lay in its close logical reasoning, by which, accepting certain premises, he built up the conclusion that if a man would escape eternal punishment he must forsake his sin and accept salvation by faith in the doctrine of the substitution.  He began always by speaking to the indifferent and the unconvinced; he led them step by step, until it appeared that there was but one step between them and destruction, and that faith must make one quick, long leap to gain the safety of the higher plane, whose joys he depicted in glowing terms.

For the most part there was intense silence in the congregation, although sometimes an audible whisper of prayer or a groan of suppressed emotion was heard.  The infection of mental excitement was strong.

Susannah was experiencing disappointment.  Accustomed as she was to excitement in the meetings of the Saints, her mind easily resisted the infectious influence.  Finney’s teaching had not differed in any respect from the doctrine which she heard from her husband daily, a doctrine which she knew by experience did not save men from delusion and rancour.  She still listened eagerly to hear of some provision made in the scheme of salvation against injustice and folly.  Surely Finney would say something more.

As it happened he did say something more.  When for more than an hour he had explained the great plan of salvation he touched upon the responsibility that the hearing of such conclusive reasoning imposed.  The sower had sown broadcast; it remained for him to speak with awful impressiveness of those forces which would be arrayed against the convicted soul.  Under this head he referred at once and with deep emotion to the devil, who, in the guise of false teachers lying in wait, caught up the seed.