more conservative among the worshippers. She did not know whether to
stay or to go; she seemed incapable of making up her mind. Then,
almost before she was aware of it, the organ commenced to play
softly, appealingly; very soon, the fane was filled with majestic
notes. Mavis was always acutely sensitive to music. In a moment, her
troubles were forgotten; she listened enrapt to the soaring melody.
The player was not the humdrum organist of the church, neither did
his music savour of the ecclesiastical inspiration which makes its
conventional appeal on Sundays and holy days. Instead, it spoke to
Mavis of the travail, the joy of being, the night, sunlight, sea,
air, the gay and grey pageant of life: the player appeared to be
moved by all these influences. Not only was he eloquent of life, but
he seemed to read and understand Mavis' soul and the perplexities
with which it was confronted. Her heart went out to this sympathetic
and intimate understanding of her needs; body and soul, she
surrendered herself to the musician's mood. Very soon, he was
playing upon her being as if she were but another instrument, of
which he had acquired the mastery. Her imagination, stirred to its
depths, took instant wing. It seemed as if the hand of time were put
back for many hundreds of years to a day in a remote century. The
building, bare of memorial inscriptions, was crowded with
ecclesiastics, monks, nobles and simple; she could see the gorgeous
ceremonial incidental to the occasion; the chanting of monks filled
her ears; the rich scent of incense lay heavy on the air; lights
flickered on the altar. Night came, when silence seemed to have
forever enshrouded the world; many nights, till one on which the
moonlight shone upon the figure of a young man keeping his vigil
beside his armour and arms. Then, in a moment, the church was filled
with sunlight, and gay with garlands and bright frocks. The knight
and his bride stood before the altar, while the world seemed to