They dropped down a long hill in the dusk, and suddenly Ursula
recognised on her right hand, below in the hollow, the form of
Southwell Minster.
'Are we here!' she cried with pleasure.
The rigid, sombre, ugly cathedral was settling under the gloom of the
coming night, as they entered the narrow town, the golden lights showed
like slabs of revelation, in the shop-windows.
'Father came here with mother,' she said, 'when they first knew each
other. He loves it--he loves the Minster. Do you?'
'Yes. It looks like quartz crystals sticking up out of the dark hollow.
We'll have our high tea at the Saracen's Head.'
As they descended, they heard the Minster bells playing a hymn, when
the hour had struck six.
Glory to thee my God this night
For all the blessings of the light--
So, to Ursula's ear, the tune fell out, drop by drop, from the unseen
sky on to the dusky town. It was like dim, bygone centuries sounding.
It was all so far off. She stood in the old yard of the inn, smelling
of straw and stables and petrol.
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