handsome face showed only abstraction, and she knew he had not heard a
word that was said. She glanced warily back toward the organ and saw
the player in his chair, but he was indulging in a few winks of sleep.
His duties at the theater the night before had illy prepared him for
very wakeful attention to the sermon, and other influences were telling
upon him, too, for the man of music knew the taste of wines. The
leader of the choir was listening. His penetrating eyes were fixed
upon the calm-faced man in the pulpit, and an unconscious scowl bent
his dark brows. Yet it was not an angry frown, but simply intent. He
looked half defensive, half convicted.

The minister went on:

"I fear that this is an unusual way of looking at it, and that we are
all too accustomed to pass unchallenged our professed worship. Vice
may be so habitual and under such common sanction as to be mistaken for
virtue. But surely in the most vital matter of our intercourse with
God we do well to let every act be tested by the truth. It shall be so
tested eventually, whether we will or no; and even now in the midst of
the churches the Son of Man is walking, still with eyes of flame, and
still He is saying: 'I know thy works.'"

Winifred's next excursion in thought away from the sermon led her to
review her part of the morning program, and she wondered if the
minister thought of it too. The hymns?--she had forgotten what they
were. But the anthem--was it unto the Lord she sang her part? Was
there an atom of sincerity in the sentiment she sang? The words were
from a Psalm, she thought, and she did not really understand what David
meant. Had she any clearer ideas as to what Winifred Gray might mean?
She surely did not wish the wings of a dove, literally, nor to fly away