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ad not attended the service here for a considerable time, and she now seemed to have a reason for her choice of seat. From the gallery window the tomb of her son was plainly visible--standing as the nearest object in a prospect which was closed outwardly by the changeless horizon of the sea. The streaming rays, too, flooded her face, now bent towards Elfride with a hard and bitter expression that the solemnity of the place raised to a tragic dignity it did not intrinsically possess. The girl resumed her normal attitude with an added disquiet. Elfride's emotion was cumulative, and after a while would assert itself on a sudden. A slight touch was enough to set it free--a poem, a sunset, a cunningly contrived chord of music, a vague imagining, being the usual accidents of its exhibition. The longing for Knight's respect, which was leading up to an incipient yearning for his love, made the present conjuncture a sufficient one. Whilst kneeling down previous to leaving, when the sunny streaks had gone upward to the roof, and the lower part of the church was in soft shadow, she could not help thinking of Coleridge's morbid poem 'The Three Graves,' and shuddering as she wondered if Mrs. Jethway were cursing her, she wept as if her heart would break. They came out of church just as the sun went down, leaving the landscape like a platform from which an eloquent speaker has retired, and nothing remains for the audience to do but to rise and go home. Mr. and Mrs. Swancourt went off in the carriage, Knight and Elfride preferring to walk, as the skilful old matchmaker had imagined. They descended the hill together. 'I liked your reading, Mr. Knight,' Elfride presently found herself saying. 'You read better than papa.' 'I will praise anybody that will praise me. You played excellently, Miss Swancourt, and very correctly.' 'Correctly--yes.' 'It must be a great pleasure to you to take an active part in the service.' 'I want to be able to play with more feeling. But I have not a good selection of music, sacred or secular. I wish I had a nice little music-library--well chosen, and that the only new pieces sent me were those of genuine merit.' 'I am glad to hear such a wish from you. It is extraordinary how many women have no honest love of music as an end and not as a means, even leaving out those who have nothing in them. They mostly like it for its accessories. I have never met a woman who loves music as do ten or a
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