e "third great Canning" for some time, before at
last they were escorted to seats in the nave. The sermon,
unfortunately, they could not hear, but the exquisite service was to
both a deep delight. Remembering the conversation of the night before,
Stephen dreaded lest Pixie should be one of the mistaken ones who sing
persistently through an elaborate choral service, thereby nullifying its
effect for those around. He was thankful to find that his fears were
unnecessary, but once or twice in an unusually beautiful refrain he
imagined that his ear caught the sound of a deep, rich note--a soft echo
of the strain itself, evoked by an irresistible impulse. He looked
inquiringly at his companion, but her head was bent and the brim of her
hat concealed her face. Her stillness, her reverence appealed to his
heart, for it was easy to see that she was enjoying the music not as a
mere concert, but, above all things, as an accompaniment to the words
themselves. One time, when he glanced at her as she rose from her
knees, he surprised a glimmer of tears in her _eyes_, and the sight
brought a stab to his heart. Why should she cry? What was the reason
of the air of repression and strain which from time to time flitted
across her face? If it were Stanor's doing. ... Stephen frowned, and
resolutely turned his attention to the service.

They came out of the Abbey to the majestic strains of the organ--out of
the dim, blurred light shining shaft-like across the glowing mosaic of
gold, and marble, and great jewelled windows, into the hard, everyday
world. The pavements were crowded with pedestrians hurrying here and
there; restaurants had opened their doors, tobacco merchants and
newspaper vendors were hard at work, and country-bred Pixie stared
around in amazed disapproval. They crossed the crowded thoroughfares
and, led by Stephen, found quiet byways in which it was possible to talk
in comparative comfort alone.

"It was better even than I expected, and that's saying so much! It does
one good to go to a service like that. It's so _big_!"

"The--the Abbey?" queried Stephen vaguely, and Pixie gave a quick
denial.

"No. _No_! Not only the building--everything! There's an atmosphere
of peace, and dignity, and calm. One gets away from littleness and
quarrelling. It's so sad when people quarrel about religion, and one
sect disputes with another..."

"It is indeed," replied Stephen, sighing. "The chances of conciliation
w