Presently Valerie came, wearing a mackintosh, a prayer-book in her hand. His heart leapt at the sight of her, for his love had been reborn in all its strength with the passing of the shadows which had come from Vaughan’s evil mind, but he did not allow himself to show it, deeming himself unworthy for ever having doubted her.
“I’m going to church, Tony,” she announced. “Would you care to come?”
A refusal leapt automatically to his lips, then he stopped. After all, why not? He would be close to her, at least, and it would be interesting to see what all this business was that they made so much of.
With sweet solicitude she helped him into a mackintosh: his own, in point of fact, the one he had lent her when she had left Kestrel. She pointed this out to him gaily, but his answering smile was sombre.
He was scarcely aware of their passage through the rectory garden and the churchyard. His whole being seemed torn in two struggling halves: one frantically rebelling from the idea of entering that small grey building, with its squat tower, the other consumed by a strange longing. In the porch he hesitated, but she tugged at his arm, and they went in.
They slipped into a pew at the back, and she knelt to pray. He sat down, silently refusing to make a show of reverence he did not feel.
It was Sunday, and the little church was nearly full. One or two of the villagers near by glanced curiously in his direction, recognizing the young master of Kestrel, but for the most part they did not heed him, for the corner in which he sat was dark and inconspicuous.
He glanced round at the images and pictures, and all the paraphernalia of worship, but without great curiosity, for he had been here once before, on the occasion of his father’s funeral. Looking at the High Altar, with its six lights and snowy cloth, he remembered the last time he had seen an illuminated altar, and his lips twitched slightly, but whether in sorrow or amusement he scarcely knew himself.
The bell ceased its tolling, scarcely audible above the sound of the wind, and the sacristy bell tinkled. The congregation rose like one man as the little procession came out of the vestry and wound its way into the sanctuary. First the thurifer, with his diminutive boat-boy, and the acolytes, splendid in scarlet and lace; then the rector, very dignified in his glittering vestments, preceded by the master of ceremonies, clad in a plain black cassock and short linen surplice. Tony was surprised to recognize Hamilton in this unfamiliar garb. He had not realized that John was keen on this sort of thing.
The organ burst into song, and the boys’ choir joined their high, clear voices with its deep melody.
After the Preparation the thurifer came forward, a silver censer twinkling in his gloved hands; the priest blessed incense, and scattered the grains of aromatic gum upon the glowing charcoal. The blue smoke rose in clouds, ringing the candle-flames with golden haloes, and the fragrant odour quickly permeated the whole building. It occurred to Tony that this must be different incense from that which he had burnt in the dark crypt beneath the Abbey — less pungent, more sweet, not stupefying.
With quickened interest he watched the intricate ceremonial. How like, and yet how unlike, the dark mysteries he had assisted at! Here was no double meaning, no sinister intention. All was simple and direct, showing forth as in a mirror the worship of God in the beauty of holiness. He observed the simple faces of the servers as they went about their business with the precision of well-drilled soldiers. They believed all this! Strange. His mind stood apart, remote, watchful. The Mass went on.
After the Creed had been sung the rector removed his chasuble and went into the pulpit. Tony half expected that the sermon would be directed at himself, and waited, rather resentfully, for the opening words. But the rector delivered a discourse on the devotion due to the Blessed Virgin, a subject which Tony felt was rather remote from his own immediate needs. Apparently he was not the most important person in the world! Amused at his own childishness, he let his attention wander, and his eyes strayed to the figure of the Virgin which stood on the left of the chancel screen.
He considered the cold purity of the sculptured features, mentally comparing them with the warm, living face of the girl at his side. Stealing a glance at her, he was surprised to note a certain resemblance. Odd, he thought; and then with a sudden rush of contrition he acknowledged that it was meant that it should be so. That statue represented the highest and holiest form of womanhood that these people could imagine. Was it not just that Valerie, who stood in his mind for all that was good and pure, should show forth in her face that same glory which had shone from the countenance of her whom they called the Mother of God?
This recognition awoke in his mind some faint perception of the innate naturalness of the Christian religion, and he felt his attitude changing imperceptibly as the bonds of that other worship slackened about his heart.
The sermon ended, the rector took his place once more at the altar, and the interrupted service continued. The bread and wine were offered to their Creator, and the moment of Consecration approached. All at once Tony became aware of a new atmosphere in the church. His clairvoyant faculties, trained and intensified by long weeks of preparation, revealed to him the eager expectancy which gripped the kneeling congregation. On every side of him minds were reaching out towards the altar, as with a quivering earnestness the people prepared to worship the coming Presence.
Despite himself a sense of awe began to steal over Tony. Angrily he strove to shake it off — this was unreal, auto-suggestion, mass-hypnotism! There was no God, only a shadowy thought-form conjured up by credulous worshipers; there could be no real Presence in the sacrament. But, strive as he would, he could not deny the inner knowledge that grew steadily stronger in his heart: something tremendous was about to happen, and every soul in the church knew it, welcomed it, but he.
“Blessed is He that cometh in the Name of the Lord: Hosanna in the highest!” rang out the clear voices of the choir. The organ ceased its playing, and an almost painful silence fell within the building. From the sanctuary came the low, continuous muttering of the priest as he recited the Canon of the Mass. The censer swung rhythmically, emitting little puffs of smoke beside the altar; the six golden spears of the tall candles burnt with an unwavering flame. The supreme moment was at hand.
Tony felt as if he were stretched upon the rack, the already well-nigh unbearable tension increasing every second. An awful chasm of suspense yawned in the pit of his stomach. He gripped the back of the seat before him until his fingernails grew white with the pressure, as with startling eyes he glared at the bowed figure of the priest.
The murmuring voice ceased, and the rector bent his head to whisper the miraculous words.
The sanctuary bell tinkled softly thrice, and the chains of the censer rattled as the kneeling thurifer censed the Host. The priest genuflected, then raised the Sanctissimum high above his head for all to see. A great wave of adoration swept over the people, like the wind over a field of corn, and every head was bowed. The Presence of God throbbed and quivered upon the altar.
With the breaking of the tension Tony’s attitude of mind changed abruptly. A blind rage swept through him: rage against that holy Thing these people worshipped. He wanted to rend, destroy, defile It. Shaking with fury, he half rose from his knees. Quickly Valerie laid her hand upon his.
At the touch of her cool fingers sanity returned, and, quelling his anger, he sank down once more.
Then followed the consecration of the Chalice, and at the second Elevation Tony’s eyes were opened, and he saw that which is rarely given to mortal sight.