he seemed
incapable of making up her mind. Then, almost before she was aware of
it, the organ commenced to play softly, appealingly; very soon, the
fane was filled with majestic notes. Mavis was always acutely sensitive
to music. In a moment, her troubles were forgotten; she listened enrapt
to the soaring melody. The player was not the humdrum organist of the
church, neither did his music savour of the ecclesiastical inspiration
which makes its conventional appeal on Sundays and holy days. Instead,
it spoke to Mavis of the travail, the joy of being, the night,
sunlight, sea, air, the gay and grey pageant of life: the player
appeared to be moved by all these influences. Not only was he eloquent
of life, but he seemed to read and understand Mavis' soul and the
perplexities with which it was confronted. Her heart went out to this
sympathetic and intimate understanding of her needs; body and soul, she
surrendered herself to the musician's mood. Very soon, he was playing
upon her being as if she were but another instrument, of which he had
acquired the mastery. Her imagination, stirred to its depths, took
instant wing. It seemed as if the hand of time were put back for many
hundreds of years to a day in a remote century. The building, bare of
memorial inscriptions, was crowded with ecclesiastics, monks, nobles
and simple; she could see the gorgeous ceremonial incidental to the
occasion; the chanting of monks filled her ears; the rich scent of
incense lay heavy on the air; lights flickered on the altar. Night
came, when silence seemed to have forever enshrouded the world; many
nights, till one on which the moonlight shone upon the figure of a
young man keeping his vigil beside his armour and arms. Then, in a
moment, the church was filled with sunlight, and gay with garlands and
bright frocks. The knight and his bride stood before the altar, while
the world seemed to laugh for very joy. As the newly-made man and wife
left the church, old-world wedding music sounded strangely in Mavis'
ears. The best part of a year passed. A little group stood about the
font, where the life, that love had called into being, was purged of
taint of sin by holy church.

Next, martial music rent the air; a venerable ecclesiastic blessed the
arms and aims of a goodly company of stout-hearted men. When the echoes
of the martial music had died away, the fane was deserted, save for one
lone woman, who offered up continual supplication for her absent lo