And as
the light increased the music grew louder and sweeter, and he knew that
it was within the sacred walls. But it was no mortal minstrelsy.

The strains he heard were the minglings of angelic instruments, and the
cadences of voices of unearthly loveliness. They seemed to proceed
from the choir about him, and from the nave and transept and aisles;
from the pictured windows and from the clerestory and from the vaulted
roofs. Under his knees he felt that the crypt was throbbing and
droning like a huge organ.

Sometimes the song came from one part of the Minster, and then all the
rest of the vast building was silent; then the music was taken up, as
it were in response, in another part; and yet again voices and
instruments would blend in one indescribable volume of harmony, which
made the huge pile thrill and vibrate from roof to pavement.

As Thomas listened, his eyes became accustomed to the celestial light
which encompassed him, and he saw--he could scarce credit his senses
that he saw--the little carved angels of the oak stalls in the choir
clashing their cymbals and playing their psalteries.

He rose to his feet, bewildered and half terrified. At that moment the
mighty roll of unison ceased, and from many parts of the church there
came a concord of clear high voices, like a warbling of silver
trumpets, and Thomas heard the words they sang. And the words were
these--

_Tibi omnes Angeli._
_To Thee all Angels cry aloud._

So close to him were two of these voices that Thomas looked up to the
spandrels in the choir, and he saw that it was the carved angels
leaning out of the spandrels that were singing. And as they sang the
breath came from their stone lips white and vaporous into the frosty
air.

He trembled with awe and astonishment, but the wonder of what was
happening drew him towards the altar. The beautiful tabernacle work of
the altar screen contained a double range of niches filled with the
statues of saints and kings; and these, he saw, were singing. He
passed slowly onward with his arms outstretched, like a blind man who
does not know the way he is treading.

The figures on the painted glass of the lancets were singing.

The winged heads of the baby angels over the marble memorial slabs were
singing.

The lions and griffons and mythical beasts of the finials were singing.

The effigies of dead abbots and priors were singing on their tombs in
bay and chantry.

The figures in the