ice was much, very much to her.

She may have been right, though not entirely so, I think. But it is
certain that, in the case of Father Hinton, the dramatic personality of
the man did nothing to lessen the magnitude of his office in the minds
of such members of his flock as Sylvia. I gathered that belief in the
celibacy of the clergy was, if not an article of faith, at least a part
of piety at St. Jude's.

Before seven o'clock on Sunday morning I heard footsteps on the gravel
under my window, and, looking out, saw Sylvia, book in hand, leaving the
house. She was exquisitely dressed, the distinguishing note of her
attire being, as always in my eyes, a demure sort of richness and
picturesqueness. Never was there another saint so charming in
appearance, I thought. Her very Prayer Book, or whatever the volume
might be, had a seductive, feminine charm about its dimpled cover.

I hurried over my dressing and was out of the house by half-past seven
and on my way to St. Jude's. Breakfast was not until half-past nine, I
knew. The morning was brilliantly sunny; and life in the world, despite
its drawbacks and complexities, as seen from Fleet Street, seemed an
admirably good thing to me as I strode over a carpet of pine-needles,
and watched the slanting sun-rays turning the tree trunks to burnished
copper.

The service was barely over when I tiptoed into a seat beside the door
at St. Jude's. At this period the appurtenances of ritual in such
churches as St. Jude's--incense, candles, rich vestments, and the
like--rivalled those of Rome itself. I remember that, fresh from the
dewy morning sunshine without, these symbols rather jarred upon my
senses than otherwise, with a strong hint of artificiality and
tawdriness, the suggestion of a theatre seen by daylight. But they meant
a great deal to many good folks in Weybridge, for, despite the earliness
of the hour, there were fifty or sixty women present, besides Sylvia,
and half a dozen men.

I could see Sylvia distinctly from my corner by the door, and I was made
rather uneasy by the fact that she remained in her place when every one
else had left the building. Five, ten minutes I waited, and then walked
softly up the aisle to her place. I did not perceive, until I reached
her side, that she was kneeling, or I suppose I should have felt obliged
to refrain from disturbing her. As it was, Sylvia heard me, and, having
seen who disturbed her, rose, with the gravest little smile, and,