Grovebury Abbey choir when I was
a boy, and I've always had a tender spot in my heart for the old town."

"And you're not going to forget it, are you, Grandfather?" said Bess
pointedly.

"Well, well, we shall see," he evaded, stroking her brown hair.

Even poor delicate Mrs. Haselford made a supreme effort and went to
church on Sunday evening. It was a beautiful service, and the old
Minster looked lovely with the late sunshine streaming through its
gorgeous west window. Some of the congregation went away after the
sermon and concluding hymn were over, but a large number stayed to hear
the recital. Bess, horribly nervous, went with Ingred to the choir,
where she had left her violin. There were to be two organ solos, and her
piece was to separate them. She was thankful she had not to play first.
She sat on one of the old carved Miserere seats, and listened as Dr.
Linton's subtle fingers touched the keys, and flooded the church with
the rich tones of Bach's Toccata in F Major. She wished it had been five
times as long, so as to delay her own turn. But a solo cannot last for
ever, and much too soon the last notes died away. There was a pause
while the verger fetched a music stand and placed it close to the
chancel steps. Dr. Linton was looking in her direction, and sounding the
A for her. With her usually rosy face almost pale, Bess walked to the
organ, tuned her violin, then took her place at the music stand. It was
seldom that so young a girl had played in the Abbey, and everybody
looked sympathetically at the palpably frightened little figure. It was
the feeling of standing there facing all eyes that unnerved poor Bess.
For a second or two her hand trembled so greatly that she could scarcely
hold her bow. Then by a sudden inspiration she looked over the heads of
the congregation to the west window, where the sunset light was gleaming
through figures of crimson and blue and gold. Down all the centuries
music had played a part in the service of the Minster. She would not
remember that people were there to listen to her, but would let her
violin give its praise to God alone. She did not need to look at her
notes, for she knew the piece by heart, and with her eyes fixed on the
west window she began the "Prelude."

Once the first notes were started, her courage returned, and she brought
out her tone with a firm bow. The splendid harmonies of the organ
supported her and she seemed spurred along in an impulse to do her very