"And Priggs," finished Una. "No, by Jove--that's the only thing it doesn't contain, unless you call halting verse and interminable poems Priggian," said the young man gaily. "Well, go on with the list, Cecilia." "Dr. Larcher is going to give us a reading," said Cecilia, who had been listening to the analysis with a quiet smile, "and Mr. Pemberton sings a sea song; I think that's all, except Miss Busky and Simon Ruller." "Last, but not least," remarked Una lightly. "The programme is excellent--let us hope the performers will be as good. It's next week, isn't it?" "No; on Thursday fortnight," answered Cecilia. "Oh, I forgot, the choir sings a glee." "And you play a piece, of course," said Reginald gravely. "This is capital. Well, now we've finished business, let us go in for pleasure. I want you to play me the 'Cujus animam.'" "What for?" asked Una. "I'm anxious to try my voice," said Blake to her in a low tone, while Miss Mosser turned to the organ. "You know why--you must give me your candid opinion about it--so go down to the end of the church and tell me what you think." "I'll be a very severe critic," observed Una, as she went away. "The more so the better," called out Blake; "don't spare me--imagine you're the _Musical Times_." Una laughed, and ensconced herself in a comfortable pew at the far end of the church just near the white marble font. The quaint old church, with its high oaken roof and narrow, stained-glass windows with their vivid tints, was filled with great masses of shadow, which produced a faint, misty twilight, eminently suited to the sacred character of the place. At intervals on either side of the wide nave arose the heavy, grey stone pillars, their elaborately carved entablatures being hardly apparent in the semi-gloom overhead. The flags of the centre aisle, worn by the feet of pious generations, made a broad path of whitish tint leading up to the chancel, ending at a flight of long, shallow steps, in the centre of which stood the brass lectern, in the form of an eagle. Between the nave and the chancel was a lance-shaped arch, on which gleamed a slender ribbon of gold, inscribed with a biblical text in vermillion. The sombre appearance of the choir seats, with their overhanging canopies, was somewhat relieved by the white glimmer of the communion table carved out of pure marble, on which stood a large crucifix of ebony, looking black and sharply defined against the great painted window at the back. Through the fantastically painted windows, with their bizarre figures of red, yellow and green, crept the grey light of the day, but suddenly a shaft of sunshine burst into the church, touching the tomb of a crusader with rainbow tints, while from the tall organ-pipes flashed gleams of golden fire. All was faint and shadowy, like the confusion of a dream, and the dusky atmosphere seemed to be filled with the subtle perfume of the incense which had curled up from silver censers in the old Romish days.