it and stood there some time with my back to the game which
was going on at the other end of the building, admiring the beautiful
colours and trying to make out the subjects depicted. In the centre
part, lit by the after-glow in the sky to a wonderful brilliance, was
the figure of a saint, a lovely young woman in a blue robe with an
abundance of loose golden-red hair and an aureole about her head. Her
pale face wore a sweet and placid expression, and her eyes of a pure
forget-me-not blue were looking straight into mine. As I stood there
the music, or noise, ceased and a very profound silence followed--not
a giggle, not a whisper from the outrageous young barbarians, and not a
sound of the organist or of anyone speaking to them. Presently I became
conscious of some person standing almost but not quite abreast of me,
and turning sharply I found a clergyman at my side. He was the vicar,
the person who had been letting himself go on the organ; a slight man
with a handsome, pale, ascetic face, clean-shaven, very dark-eyed,
looking more like an Italian monk or priest than an English clergyman.
But although rigidly ecclesiastic in his appearance and dress, there was
something curiously engaging in him, along with a subtle look which
it was not easy to fathom. There was a light in his dark eyes which
reminded me of a flame seen through a smoked glass or a thin black veil,
and a slight restless movement about the corners of his mouth as if a
smile was just on the point of breaking out. But it never quite came;
he kept his gravity even when he said things which would have gone very
well with a smile.

"I see," he spoke, and his penetrating musical voice had, too, like his
eyes and mouth, an expression of mystery in it, "that you are admiring
our beautiful west window, especially the figure in the centre. It is
quite new--everything is new here--the church itself was only built a
few years ago. This window is its chief glory: it was done by a good
artist--he has done some of the most admired windows of recent years;
and the centre figure is supposed to be a portrait of our generous
patroness. At all events she sat for it to him. You have probably heard
of Lady Y--?"

"What!" I exclaimed. "Lady Y--: that funny old woman!"

"No--middle-aged," he corrected, a little frigidly and perhaps a little
mockingly at the same time.

"Very well, middle-aged if you like; I don't know her personally. One
hears about her; but I did not know