The colour came streaming from the painted window above her.
It lit on the dark wood of the pew, on the stone, worn aisle, on
the pillar behind her cousin, and on her cousin's hands, as they
lay on his knees. She sat amid illumination, illumination and
luminous shadow all around her, her soul very bright. She sat,
without knowing it, conscious of the hands and motionless knees
of her cousin. Something strange had entered into her world,
something entirely strange and unlike what she knew.
She was curiously elated. She sat in a glowing world of
unreality, very delightful. A brooding light, like laughter, was
in her eyes. She was aware of a strange influence entering in to
her, which she enjoyed. It was a dark enrichening influence she
had not known before. She did not think of her cousin. But she
was startled when his hands moved.
She wished he would not say the responses so plainly. It
diverted her from her vague enjoyment. Why would he obtrude, and
draw notice to himself? It was bad taste. But she went on all
right till the hymn came. He stood up beside her to sing, and
that pleased her. Then suddenly, at the very first word, his
voice came strong and over-riding, filling the church. He was
singing the tenor. Her soul opened in amazement. His voice
filled the church! It rang out like a trumpet, and rang out
again. She started to giggle over her hymn-book. But he went on,
perfectly steady. Up and down rang his voice, going its own way.
She was helplessly shocked into laughter. Between moments of
dead silence in herself she shook with laughter. On came the
laughter, seized her and shook her till the tears were in her
eyes. She was amazed, and rather enjoyed it. And still the hymn
rolled on, and still she laughed. She bent over her hymn-book
crimson with confusion, but still her sides shook with laughter.
She pretended to cough, she pretended to have a crumb in her
throat. Fred was gazing up at her with clear blue eyes. She was
recovering herself. And then a slur in the strong, blind voice
at her side brought it all on again, in a gust of mad
laughter.
She bent down to prayer in cold reproof of herself. And yet,
as she knelt, little eddies of giggling went over her. The very
sight of his knees on the praying cushion sent the little shock
of laughter over her.
She gathered herself together and sat with prim, pure face,
white and pink and cold as a Christmas rose, her hands in her
silk gloves folded on her lap, her dark eyes all vague,
abstracted in a sort of dream, oblivious of everything.
The sermon rolled on vaguely, in a tide of pregnant
peace.