'There is to be a baptism, sir.'

Somerset was not sufficiently interested to develop a further
conversation, and observing them in silence till they had
again vanished into the building, he went on his way.
Reaching the brow of the hill he stopped and looked back. The
chapel was still in view, and the shades of night having
deepened, the lights shone from the windows yet more brightly
than before. A few steps further would hide them and the
edifice, and all that belonged to it from his sight, possibly
for ever. There was something in the thought which led him to
linger. The chapel had neither beauty, quaintness, nor
congeniality to recommend it: the dissimilitude between the
new utilitarianism of the place and the scenes of venerable
Gothic art which had occupied his daylight hours could not
well be exceeded. But Somerset, as has been said, was an
instrument of no narrow gamut: he had a key for other touches
than the purely aesthetic, even on such an excursion as this.
His mind was arrested by the intense and busy energy which
must needs belong to an assembly that required such a glare of
light to do its religion by; in the heaving of that tune there
was an earnestness which made him thoughtful, and the shine of
those windows he had characterized as ugly reminded him of the
shining of the good deed in a naughty world. The chapel and
its shabby plot of ground, from which the herbage was all
trodden away by busy feet, had a living human interest that
the numerous minsters and churches knee-deep in fresh green
grass, visited by him during the foregoing week, had often
lacked. Moreover, there was going to be a baptism: that
meant the immersion of a grown-up person; and he had been told