The family of the martyred nurse was represented by two married sisters, Miss Scott Cavell, matron of the Hull and East Riding Convalescent Home, and other relatives. The aged mother was not present; she was too weighed down by weight of years and sorrow to face a public ordeal whose pathos would have been too poignant to bear. In imagination could be conjured up a white-haired stately dame in her quiet Norwich home, engaging in a simultaneous service all her own in the silence of her saddened heart. Among the more distinguished members of the congregation were the Prime Minister and not a few members of the Cabinet; members of both Houses of Parliament; Sir A. Keogh (representing Lord Kitchener); Lord Charles Beresford, a popular representative of the Navy; the Diplomatic Corps; the High Commissioners of Canada and Australia; the Deputy Lord Mayor and Sheriffs in state; and notable representatives of the arts, sciences, commerce, &c. For the rest there was a vast concourse, all bent upon the one single purpose of taking advantage of the grave and beautiful Anglican ritual to place on record, without bitterness, hate, or venom, their deep sense of the foul crime that had sent Edith Cavell to her death. But the outstanding feature of the multitude was the nurses. Six hundred of them were in reserved seats, but there must have been at least two thousand in the building. First and foremost were various members of Miss Cavell's training school in Belgium; and, of course, the 'London,' in their dark rifle green, had a prominent place in the great company of nurses of all grades, ambassadors and delegates of their noble profession. Many of them were simply in caps and aprons with a cloak around their shoulders, suggesting that they had come straight from their duties in the city's palaces of pain to engage in a service that was a fresh consecration of their merciful calling. Except for the gorgeous habiliments of the civic officials, Queen Alexandra's corps of nurses provided the only note of colour in the touch of red at the capes; for even the band of the First Life Guards was dressed in sober khaki instead of their usually resplendent uniforms. Wounded soldiers, often in groups, were pathetically noticeable among the congregation, poor fellows who could testify above all others to the mercy and healing brought to the sick and the maimed by 'a noble type of good heroic womanhood.' Of the whole immense gathering the majority were women. A large proportion of them were in black, the significant badge of grief for the loss of their own particular dear ones, the brave fellows who have laid down their lives on the battle-fields, or on the ocean for whose mistress-ship they died.