lines; the shades seeming cooler and more soothing than ever
shade was, and the lights like patches of amber diamond animated with
heavenly fire. And above, from west to east the blue sky vaulted the
lofty aisle, and seemed quite close.

The sunny caps of the women made a sea of white contrasting exquisitely
with that vivid vault of blue.

For the mid aisle, huge as it was, was crammed, yet quite still. The
words and the mellow, gentle, earnest voice of the preacher held them
mute.

Margaret stood spellbound at the beauty, the devotion, "the great calm,"
She got behind a pillar in the north aisle; and there, though she could
hardly catch a word, a sweet devotional langour crept over her at the
loveliness of the place and the preacher's musical voice; and balmy oil
seemed to trickle over the waves in her heart and smooth them. So she
leaned against the pillar with eyes half closed, and all seemed soft and
dreamy.

She felt it good to be there.

Presently she saw a lady leave an excellent place opposite to get out of
the sun, which was indeed pouring on her head from the window. Margaret
went round softly but swiftly; and was fortunate enough to get the
place. She was now beside a pillar of the south aisle, and not above
fifty feet from the preacher. She was at his side, a little behind him,
but could hear every word.

Her attention, however, was soon distracted by the shadow of a man's
head and shoulders bobbing up and down so drolly she had some ado to
keep from smiling.

Yet it was nothing essentially droll.

It was the sexton digging.

She found that out in a moment by looking behind her, through the
window, to whence the shadow came.

Now as she was looking at Jorian Ketel digging, suddenly a tone of the
preacher's voice fell upon her ear and her mind so distinctly, it seemed
literally to strike her, and make her vibrate inside and out.

Her hand went to her bosom, so strange and sudden was the thrill. Then
she turned round, and looked at the preacher. His back was turned, and
nothing visible but his tonsure. She sighed. That tonsure, being all she
saw, contradicted the tone effectually.

Yet she now leaned a little forward with downcast eyes, hoping for that
accent again. It did not come. But the whole voice grew strangely upon
her. It rose and fell as the preacher warmed; and it seemed to waken
faint echoes of a thousand happy memories. She would not look to dispel
the melancholy pleasure this voice