Was it caused by emotion or by the
strange lights in the chapel?
Maggie glanced at her, touched her hand for a moment and then hurried
forward to her seat.
The girls were accommodated with stalls just above the choir. They
could read out of the college prayer-books and had a fine view of the
church.
The congregation streamed in, the choir followed; the doors between
the chapel and ante-chapel were shut, the curtains were dropped and
the service began.
There is no better musical service in England than that which Sunday
after Sunday is conducted at St. Hilda's Chapel at Kingsdene. The
harmony and the richness of the sounds which fill that old chapel can
scarcely be surpassed. The boys send up notes clear and sweet as
nightingales into the fretted arches of the roof; the men's deeper
notes swell the music until it breaks on the ears in a full tide of
perfect harmony; the great organ fills in the breaks and pauses. This
splendid service of song seems to reach perfection. In its way earth
cannot give anything more perfect.
Maggie Oliphant did not come very often to St. Hilda's. At one time
she was a constant worshiper there, but that was a year ago, before
something happened which changed her. Then Sunday after Sunday two
lovely girls used to walk up the aisle side by side.
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