swinging lamps, and the organ itself, were
all suffused with it, and seemed to belong to some other world far away.
And then, after the 'Wedding March' was over, there was a pause of
silence, and a slight sound of feet in the echoing building behind; and
then the music began again--something distant, and sad, and yearning,
like the cry of a soul seeking for light in the dark, for comfort in
despair. Nan, in her solitary pew, bowed her head and covered her face
with her hands. This music was less picturesque, perhaps, than that she
had heard in the cathedral at Lucerne, but it had more of a human cry in
it; it was an appeal for guidance--for light--for light in the darkness
of the world. The tears were running down Nan's face. And then there
came into a neighbouring pew a woman dressed in a peculiar costume, all
in black; and she, too, knelt down, and covered her face with her hands.
And Nan would fain have gone to her and said--

'Oh, sister, take me with you and teach me. You have chosen your path
in the world--the path of charity and good-will and peace; let me help
you; let me give myself to the poor and the sick. There must be
something somewhere for me to do in the world. Take me into your
sisterhood; I am not afraid of hardship; let me be of some little use to
those who are wretched and weary in heart.'

By and by that lady in black rose, went into the open space fronting the
altar, knelt one knee slightly, and then left. Presently Nan followed
her, her head bent down somewhat, and her heart not very light.

Just as she was leaving the interior of the church, some one stepped out
of the vestry, followed her for a second, and then addressed her. She
turned and recognised Mr. Jacomb. He had not been officiating; he was
in ordinary clerical costume; and there was something in the primness of
that costume that suited his appearance. For he was a singularly
clean-looking man; his face smooth shaven; his complexion of the fairest
white and pink; his hair yellow almost to whiteness; his eyes gray,
clear, and kindly. For the rest, he was about six-and-thirty; of
stoutish build; and he generally wore a pleasant and complacent smile,
as if the world had treated him kindly, despite his experiences in that
poor parish in the south-east of London, and as if, whatever might
happen to him, anxiety was not likely to put a premature end to his
existence.

'Dear me,' said he, 'what a coincidence! I saw your sister