-windows, and finally, ceasing to appear as a mere picture,
took shape, materialized as a statue of black wood standing on a
pedestal in a full hooped skirt like a silver bell.

The sheltering forest had vanished with the darkness; the tree-trunks
remained, but rose with giddy flight from the ground, unbroken pillars
to the sky, meeting at a vast height under the groined vault; the forest
was seen as an immense church blossoming with roses of fire, pierced
with glowing glass, crowded with Virgins and apostles, patriarchs and
saints.

The genius of the middle ages had devised the skilful and pious lighting
of this edifice, and harmonized the ascending march of day to some
extent with its windows. The walls and the aisles were very dark, the
daylight creeping, mysteriously subdued, along the body of the church.
It was lost in the stained glass, checked by dark bishops, and opaque
saints completely filling the dusky-bordered windows with the dead hues
of a Persian rug; the panes absorbed the sun's rays, refracting none,
arrested the powdered gold of the sunbeams in the dull violet of purple
egg-fruit, the tawny browns of tinder or tan, the too-blue greens, and
the wine-coloured red stained with soot, like the thick juice of
mulberries.

As it reached the chancel, the light came in through brighter and
clearer colours, through the blue of translucent sapphires, through pale
rubies, brilliant yellow, and crystalline white. The gloom was relieved
beyond the transepts near the altar. Even in the centre of the cross the
sun pierced clearer glass, less storied with figures, and bordered with
almost colourless panes that admitted it freely.

At last, in the apse, forming the top of the cross, it poured in,
symbolical of the light that flooded the world from the top of the Tree;
and the pictures were diaphanous, just lightly covered with flowing
lines and aerial tints, to frame in a sheaf of coloured sparks the image
of a Madonna, less hieratic and barbaric than the others, and a fairer
Infant, blessing the earth with uplifted hand.

By this time the Cathedral of Chartres was alive with the clatter of
wooden shoes, the rustle of petticoats, and the tinkle of mass-bells.

Durtal left the corner of the transept where he had been sitting with
his back to a pillar, and turned to the left, towards a bay where there
was a framework ablaze with lighted tapers before the statue of the
Virgin.

And schools of little girls under the