And now--from what movements, what obscurities of change within herself, had come this new sense, half loathing, half attraction, that could not withdraw itself from the stroke, from the attack of this Christian poetry--these cries of the soul, now from the Psalms, now from Paul, now from the unknown voices of the Church? Was it merely the setting that made the difference--the horror of what had passed, the infinite relief to eye and heart of this sudden calm that had fallen on the terror and distraction of the workmen--the strangeness of this vast shed for church, with its fierce perpetual drama of assaulting flame and flying shadow, and the gaunt tangled forms of its machinery--the dull glare of that distant furnace that had made so little--hardly an added throb, hardly a leaping flame! of the living man thrown to it half an hour before, and seemed to be still murmuring and growling there, behind this great act of human pity, in a dying discontent? Whence was it--this stilling, pacifying power? All around her men were sobbing and groaning, but as the wave dies after the storm. They seemed to feel themselves in some grasp that sustained, some hold that made life tolerable again. "Amens" came thick and fast. The convulsion of the faces was abating; a natural human courage was flowing back into contracted hearts. "_Blessed are the dead--for they rest from their labours_--" "_as our hope is this our brother doth._" Laura shivered. The constant agony of the world, in its constant search for all that consoles, all that eases, laid its compelling hand upon her. By a natural instinct she wrapped her arms closer, more passionately, round the child upon her knee. * * * * * "Won't she come?" said Mason. He and Seaton were standing in the downstairs parlour of a small house in a row of workmen's cottages, about half a mile from the steel works. Mason still showed traces, in look and bearing, of the horror he had witnessed. But he had sufficiently recovered from it to be conscious into the bargain of his own personal grievance, of their spoilt day, and his lost chances. Seaton, too, showed annoyance and impatience; and as Polly entered the room he echoed Mason's question. Polly shook her head. "She says she won't leave the child till the last moment. We must go and have our tea, and come back for her." "Come along then!" said Mason gloomily, as he led the way to the door.