"Look round the room, Christine. Read the faces. Here are portraits of men and women. Some of them are eager, some are calm, more are unhappy for thinking of the end. Here is a battle-field; the dead and wounded are lying about the ground. Look at this troop of horsemen charging. Is there any terror in their faces? What do they care about the men who have fallen? Their duty is to fight. See here again. It is a dying girl. What do you read in her face? I see no fear, but a sweet joy of resignation. Here is a man led forth to execution. There is no fear in his face." "I could never bear to be alone in this room, because Death is everywhere, and no one seems to regard it." "Christine, did you never hear, by any chance, from your grandfather why people were not afraid?" "No; he cannot bear to speak of such a thing. He trembles and shakes if it is even mentioned. They all do, except you." "What does he tell you?" "He talks of the time when he was young. It was long before the Great Discovery. Oh, he is very old. He was always going to feasts and dances. He had a great many friends, and some of them used to sing and dance in theatres. They were all very fond of suppers after the theatre, and there was a great deal of singing and laughing. They used to drive about in carriages, and they went to races. I do not understand, very well, the pleasure of his life." "Ah," said Jack, "he has forgotten the really important part of it." They were at a part of the Gallery where there was a door of strong oak, studded with big square nails, under an arch of carved stone. "Have you ever been into this place?" he asked. "Once I went in. But there is a dreadful tomb in it, with carved skulls and the figure of a dead man. So I ran away." "Come in with me. You shall not be frightened." He turned the great iron handle, and pushed open the heavy door. The room was lofty, with a pointed roof. It was lit by long narrow windows, filled with painted glass. There were seats of carved wood, with carved canopies on either side; there was the figure of a brass eagle, with a great book upon it; and under the three lights of the window at the end was a table covered with a cloth which hung in rags and tatters, and was covered with dust. It was, in fact, an ancient Chapel, shut up and suffered to fall into decay. "This," said the young man, "is the Chapel where, in the old time, they came to worship. They also worshipped in the great place that is now the House of Life. But here some of them worshipped also, though with less splendor." "Did they," asked the girl, "worship the Beautiful Woman of their dreams?" "No, not the Beautiful Woman. They worshipped her outside. In this Chapel they worshipped the Maker of Perfect Man and Perfect Woman. Come in with me, and I will tell you something of what it meant." * * * * *