many different natures, coloured by meditative ecstasy,
upspringing with the impulse of repentance--blended with the myriad
fancies of every creed. Yes. In those long vaulted aisles the melodies
inspired by the sense of things divine are blended with a grandeur
unknown before, are decked with new glory and might. Out of the dim
daylight, and the deep silence broken by the chanting of the choir in
response to the thunder of the organ, a veil is woven for God, and the
brightness of His attributes shines through it.

And this wealth of holy things seemed to be flung down like a grain of
incense upon the fragile altar raised to Love beneath the eternal throne
of a jealous and avenging God. Indeed, in the joy of the nun there
was little of that awe and gravity which should harmonize with the
solemnities of the _Magnificat_. She had enriched the music with
graceful variations, earthly gladness throbbing through the rhythm of
each. In such brilliant quivering notes some great singer might strive
to find a voice for her love, her melodies fluttered as a bird flutters
about her mate. There were moments when she seemed to leap back into
the past, to dally there now with laughter, now with tears. Her changing
moods, as it were, ran riot. She was like a woman excited and happy over
her lover's return.

But at length, after the swaying fugues of delirium, after the
marvellous rendering of a vision of the past, a revulsion swept over the
soul that thus found utterance for itself. With a swift transition from
the major to the minor, the organist told her hearer of her present lot.
She gave the story of long melancholy broodings, of the slow course
of her moral malady. How day by day she deadened the senses, how every
night cut off one more thought, how her heart was slowly reduced
to ashes. The sadness deepened shade after shade through languid
modulations, and in a little while the echoes were pouring out a torrent
of grief. Then on a sudden, high notes rang out like the voices of
angels singing together, as if to tell the lost but not forgotten lover
that their spirits now could only meet in heaven. Pathetic hope! Then
followed the _Amen_. No more joy, no more tears in the air, no sadness,
no regrets. The _Amen_ was the return to God. The final chord was deep,
solemn, even terrible; for the last rumblings of the bass sent a shiver
through the audience that raised the hair on their heads; the nun shook
out her veiling of crepe, and