Who would venture to say that in the plain services of Midfell Church, love and devotion and reverence were less than here, though differently shown? But also, who should dare to assert that love and devotion and reverence here were less, because allowed fuller expression? Only, surely, a Barbara Wyverne or one like-minded would roughly thus tread on holy ground, would carelessly so condemn. The Father of all, looking into each heart, reads and values at their true worth the love, the devotion, the reverence, whether uttered in this manner or expressed in that manner before His footstool. To Phyllys, the surroundings, the spiritual atmosphere, the solemn hush, the stirring music, appealing to her impressionable nature, meant joy and comfort and a new realization of the Divine Presence. That Presence is made known to men through many different channels and by various modes. For years Phyllys had not felt her father and mother so near, because for years she had not felt God so near. Their nearness was involved in His; for they were in Him, with Him. Tears filled her eyes as she knelt. She knew that this Church might be to her as a gate of heaven. Her late terrible experience on the moor had deepened the sense of spiritual need, and here might be what would satisfy that need. "O I am glad to have come," she whispered. Presently, standing up, she noted Mrs. Keith's manner as peculiar. Those fine eyes, troubled and restless, were gazing at the east window, as if in protest, and the lips moved beseechingly. Did this mean prayer? Something had stirred the elder woman, as she had been stirred; only in Mrs. Keith it looked like sorrow, not joy. But what could Mrs. Keith have to grieve her, in her beautiful home, with the most winning of sons, with Giles as a second son ready to give all she wished?—Except indeed in so insignificant a desire as related to Colin's modelling. Phyllys floated into a train of thought, which landed her beside a chestnut-tinted stream, with golden glimmers in white wavelets, and Giles by her side. Thence by a transition she was in the bog, sinking, horror-stricken, in black slime, and once more she felt the grip of his hand. "But for him—!" she whispered. Twenty minutes later she and Mrs. Keith stood in the empty church, Colin having gone home. Architecture claimed attention, and Mrs. Keith pointed out the Norman arches, the solid columns, the stalls and their carved canopies, the aged rood-screen, the new seats of dark oak throughout the building.