eep it."

At which a lump rose in Dickie's throat, nearly causing him to choke
over his first spoonful of soup. But Mary Cathcart whose kind eyes saw
most things, smiled first upon her lover and then upon him, and began
talking to him of horses, as one sportsman to another. And so Dickie
speedily recovered himself, and grew eager, playing host very prettily
at his own table.

He demanded to sit up to prayers, moreover, and took his place in the
dead Richard Calmady's stall nearest the altar rails on the left. Next
him was Dr. Knott, who had come in unexpectedly just before dinner. He
had the boy a little on his mind; and, while contemptuous of his own
weakness in the matter, wanted badly to know just how he was. Lady
Calmady had begged him to stay. He could be excellent company when he
pleased. He had laid aside his roughness of manner and been excellent
company to-night. Next him was Ormiston, while the seats immediately
below were occupied by the men-servants, Winter at their head.

Opposite to Richard, across the chapel, sat Lady Calmady. The fair,
summer moonlight streaming in through the east window spread a network
of fairy jewels upon her stately, gray-clad figure and beautiful head.
Beside her was Mary Cathcart, and then came a range of dark, vacant
stalls. And below these was a long line of women-servants, ranging from
Denny, in rustling, black silk, and Clara,--alert and pretty, though a
trifle tearful,--through many grades and orders, down to the little
scullery-maid, fresh from the keeper's cottage on the Warren--homesick,
and half scared by the grand gentlemen and ladies in evening-dress, by
the strange, lovely figures in the stained-glass windows, by the great,
gold cross and flowers, and the rich altar-cloth and costly hangings
but half seen in the conflicting light of the moonbeams and quivering
candles.

John Knott was impressed by the scene too, though hardly on the same
lines as the little scullery-maid. He had long ago passed the doors of
orthodoxy and dogma. Christian church and heathen temple--could he have
had the interesting experience of entering the latter--were alike to
him. The attitude and office of the priest, the same in every age and
under every form of religion, filled him with cynical scorn. Yet he had
to own there was something inexpressibly touching in the nightly
gathering together of this great household, gentle and simple; and in
this bowing before the source of the impenetrabl