so Westray resigned
himself to the inevitable, and the little group moved up the nave,
enveloped in an atmosphere of its own, of which wet overcoats and
umbrellas were resolvable constituents. The air in the church was raw
and cold, and a smell of sodden matting drew Westray's attention to the
fact that the roofs were not water-tight, and that there were pools of
rain-water on the floor in many places.

"The nave is the oldest part," said the cicerone, "built about 1135 by
Walter Le Bec."

"I am very much afraid our friend is too young and inexperienced for the
work here. What do _you_ think?" he put in as a rapid aside to the
doctor.

"Oh, I dare say if you take him in hand and coach him a little he will
do all right," replied the doctor, raising his eyebrows for the
organist's delectation.

"Yes, this is all Le Bec's work," the Rector went on, turning back to
Westray. "So sublime the simplicity of the Norman style, is it not?
The nave arcades will repay your close attention; and look at these
wonderful arches in the crossing. Norman, of course, but how light; and
yet strong as a rock to bear the enormous weight of the tower which
later builders reared on them. Wonderful, wonderful!"

Westray recalled his Chief's doubts about the tower, and looking up into
the lantern saw on the north side a seam of old brick filling; and on
the south a thin jagged fissure, that ran down from the sill of the
lantern-window like the impress of a lightning-flash. There came into
his head an old architectural saw, "The arch never sleeps"; and as he
looked up at the four wide and finely-drawn semicircles they seemed to
say:

"The arch never sleeps, never sleeps. They have bound on us a burden
too heavy to be borne. We are shifting it. The arch never sleeps."

"Wonderful, wonderful!" the Rector still murmured. "Daring fellows,
these Norman builders."

"Yes, yes," Westray was constrained to say; "but they never reckoned
that the present tower would be piled upon their arches."

"What, _you_ think them a little shaky?" put in the organist. "Well, I
have fancied so, many a time, myself."

"Oh, I don't know. I dare say they will last our time," Westray
answered in a nonchalant and reassuring tone; for he remembered that, as
regards the tower, he had been specially cautioned to let sleeping dogs
lie, but he thought of the Ossa heaped on Pelion above their heads, and
conceived a mistrust of the wide crossing-arches which