knights sleep so grimly, with hands clasped on their breasts and
their long swords.

And seeing himself in those times, clad in armour, a knight Templar
walking in procession in that very church, John recited a verse of
Tennyson's _Sir Galahad_--

"Sometimes on lonely mountain meres
I find a magic bark;
I leap on board; no helmsman steers:
I float till all is dark.
A gentle sound, an awful light!
Three angels bear the holy Grail;
With folded feet, in stoles of white,
On sleeping wings they sail.
Ah, blessed vision! blood of God!
My spirit beats her mortal bars,
As down dark tides the glory slides,
And star-like mingles with the stars."


"Oh! very beautiful. 'On sleeping wings they sail.' Say it again."

John repeated the stanza, his eyes fixed upon the knight.

Mike said--

"How different to-day the girls of the neighbourhood, their
prayer-books and umbrellas! Yet I don't think the anachronism
displeases me."