functions of his senses, that I paced steadfastly forward, neither
asking the way nor looking about for it, and only paused when I was
before the worn portal of a great red-brick church whose facade, never
finished, presented to the world the ragged ends of bricks and mortar.
Here, I say, I paused, but not for uncertainty's sake, rather that I
might take full breath for my high adventure: as a man may hold his
energies curbed on the entry into battle, or, with his hand at the
chamber door, upon his marriage night; or even at his last hour, when
the sands are nearly run and the priest has done his best, and before
him lies all that dark unexplored plain he must travel alone. I breathed
no articulated prayer, all my being prayed, every pulse and current in
my body, every urgency of my soul tended upwards to my advocate and
guardian in heaven. I bowed my head, I made the sign of the Cross, I
pushed the curtains and went in. Before me stretched a vast and empty
church, desolate exceedingly, at the far end of which, in the gloomy
fog, before a lamp-lit altar I saw a woman kneeling stiffly, with
uplifted head, as if she watched, not prayed--watched there and waited,
knowing full well the hour was come and the man.

Her head was hooded in a dark handkerchief; I could see her thin hands
clasped together--on the altar-rail; even as I realised these things
about her (which, besides her rigid, unprayerful pose, were all there
were to see) I must admit to myself that she bore no resemblance to my
lady. That one matter of devotion, and the devotional attitude were
enough to condemn her. For Aurelia was no bargainer in church, but lent
herself unreservedly to the holy commerce--her generous body, her ardent
soul--and asked no interest for the usufruct. Have I not seen her rain
kisses upon the tomb of St. Antony more passionately than I could have
dared upon her hand? Had she ever risen from the outpouring of prayer
without the dew of happy tears to bear witness in her eyes to her riven