eal hymn,' Una explained. 'She does it as a treat after her
exercises. She isn't a real organist, you know. She just comes down here
sometimes, from the Albert Hall.'

'Oh, what a miracle of a voice!' said the Archbishop.

It rang out suddenly from a dark arch of lonely noises--every word
spoken to the very end.

'Dies Irae, dies illa
Solvet saeclum in favilla
Teste David cum Sibylla.'

The Archbishop caught his breath and moved forward.

The music carried on by itself a while.

'Now it's calling all the light out of the windows,' Una whispered to
Dan.

'I think it's more like a horse neighing in battle,' he whispered back.
The voice cried:

'Tuba mirum spargens sonum
Per sepulchra regionum.'

Deeper and deeper the organ dived down, but far below its deepest note
they heard Puck's voice joining in the last line:

'Coget omnes ante thronum.'

As they looked in wonder, for it sounded like the dull jar of one of the
very pillars shifting, the little fellow turned and went out through the
south door.

'Now's the sorrowful part, but it's very beautiful.' Una found herself
speaking to the empty chair in front of her.

'What are you doing that for?' Dan said behind her. 'You spoke so
politely too.'

'I don't know ... I thought ...' said Una. 'Funny!'

''Tisn't. It's the part you like best,' Dan grunted.

The music had turned soft--full of little sounds that chased each other
on wings across the broad gentle flood of the main tune. But the voice
was ten times lovelier than the music.

'Recordare Jesu pie,
Quod sum causa Tuae viae,
Ne me perdas illa die!'

There was no more. They moved out into the centre-aisle.

''That you?' the Lady called as she shut the lid. 'I thought I heard
you, and I played it on purpose.'

'Thank you awfully,' said Dan. 'We hoped you would, so we waited. Come
on, Una, it's pretty nearly dinner-time.'

SONG OF THE RED WAR-BOAT

Shove off from the wharf-edge! Steady!
Watch for a smooth! Give way!
If she feels the lop already
She'll stand on her head in the bay.
It's ebb--it's dusk--it's blowing,
The shoals are a mile of white,
But (snatch her along!) we're going
To find our master to-night.

For we hold that in all disaster
Of shipwreck, storm, or sword,
A man must stand by his master
When once he has pledged his word!

Raging seas have we rowe