s.

Surely, whatever one believed of the mysterious world and of all the
other mysterious worlds that might be floating behind the veils, surely
here was a very present help in trouble, a luminous brightness shining in
a fog-choked world.

Peter, sitting by the door, sank into a great peace. Half-way up the
church he saw Rhoda sitting very still. She too was looking up the church
towards the lamps and the altar beyond them.

Presently a cassocked sacristan came and lit the vesper lights, for
evensong was to be at seven, and the altar blazed out, an unearthly
brilliance in the dim place. The low murmur of voices (a patient priest
had been hearing confessions for an hour) ceased, and people began coming
in one by one for service. Rhoda shivered a little, and got up and came
down the church. Peter joined her at the door, and they passed shivering
into the fog together.

"I was looking for you," said Peter, when they were out in the alley that
led to the church door.

"It's time we went, isn't it," she said apathetically.

Then she added, inconsequently, "The church seems the only place where
one can find a bit of peace. I can't think why, when probably it's all
a fairy-tale."

"I suppose that's why," said Peter. "Fairyland is the most peaceful
country there is."

"You can't get peace out of what's not true," Rhoda insisted querulously.

"Oh, I don't know.... Besides, fairy-tales aren't necessarily untrue,
do you think? I don't mean that, when I call what churches teach a
fairy-tale. I mean it's beautiful and romantic and full of light and
colour and wonderful things happening. And it's probably the truer for
that."

"D'you _believe_ it all?" queried Rhoda; but he couldn't answer her as to
that.

"I don't know. I never do know exactly what I believe. I can't think how
anyone does. But yes, I think I like to believe in those things; they're
too beautiful not to be true."

"It's the ugly things that are true," she said, coughing in the fog.

"Why, yes, the ugly things and the beautiful; God and the devil, if one
puts it like that. Oh, yes, I believe very much in the devil; I can't
believe that any street of houses could look quite like this without the
help of someone utterly given over to evil thinking. _We_ aren't, you
see; none of us are ugly enough in our minds to have thought out some
of the things one sees; so there must be a devil."

Rhoda was silent. He thought she was crying. He said gently, "I say,