o doubt it was the physical, as well as the spiritual,
atmosphere of this place, the quiet corridors, the warmth and the
plainness and the solidity, even the august grace of the refectory--all
these helped and had part in the sensation. Yet, if it is possible for
you to believe it, these were no more than the vessels from which the
heavenly fluid streamed; vessels, rather, that contained a little of
that abundance that surged up here as in a fountain....

Frank started a little at a voice in his ear.

"When's it going to begin?" whispered the Major in a hoarse,
apprehensive voice.

(V)

A figure detached itself presently from the dark mass of the stalls and
came down to where they were sitting. Frank perceived it was Father
Hildebrand.

"We're singing Mattins of the Dead, presently," he said in a low voice.
"It's All Souls' Eve. Will you stay, or shall I take you to your room?"

The Major stood up with alacrity.

"I'll stay, if I may," said Frank.

"Very well. Then I'll take Mr. Trustcott upstairs."

* * * * *

Half an hour later the ceremony began.

Here, I simply despair of description. I know something of what Frank
witnessed and perceived, for I have been present myself at this affair
in a religious house; but I do not pretend to be able to write it down.

First, however, there was the external, visible, audible service: the
catafalque, a bier-like erection, all black and yellow, guarded by
yellow flames on yellow candles--the grave movements, the almost
monstrous figures, the rhythm of the ceremonies, and the wail of, the
music of forty voices singing as one--all that is understood....

But the inner side of these things--the reverse of which these things
are but a coarse lining, the substance of which this is a shadow--that
is what passes words and transcends impressions.

It seemed to Frank that one section, at any rate, of that enormous truth
at which he had clutched almost blindly when he had first made his
submission to the Church--one chamber in that House of Life--was now
flung open before him, and he saw in it men as trees walking.... He was
tired and excited, of course; he was intensely imaginative; but there
are some experiences that a rise of temperature cannot explain and that
an imagination cannot originate....

For it seemed to him that here he was aware of an immeasurable need to
which those ministrations were addressed, and this whole was countless