For the first time in
her life she felt ashamed. She felt a presence near her that was not
altogether of this earth's mould.
At last regaining a semblance of her usual _aplomb_, she stepped from
the pulpit and made toward the door, where others were entering. She
looked back when half-way down the aisle and beckoned to the others of
her party to follow. As she did so, there came from the pulpit a voice
so rich and sweet, so penetrating the soul, the woman trembled and
listened.
It was the "Kyrie Eleison" sung in a new tune with clear, strong
English words, and they rung and rung in Constance' ears, as they
continued to do for the rest of her days.
"He is a Ranter. Let us stay and hear him?" Monmouth said.
"Nay," said Katherine; "I am without covering for my head. Let's
begone, the meeting is gathering. What a glory is in his countenance,
and his voice is like music!"
"The lack of a bonnet need not hinder. Thou art a lady and
privileged."
"Nay, nay. I would know who he is?" Monmouth plucked the sleeve of
a passer-by and inquired.
Pages:
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296