The organ seemed breathing, and its breath was music.
Jane pushed the heavy door further open, and even at that moment it occurred to her that the freckled boy with a red head, and Garth's slim proportions, had evidently passed easily through an aperture which refused ingress to her more massive figure.

She pushed the door further open, and went in.
Instantly a stillness entered into her soul.

The sense of unseen presences, often so strongly felt on entering an empty church alone, the impress left upon old walls and rafters by the worshipping minds of centuries, hushed the insistent beating of her own perplexity, and for a few moments she forgot the errand which brought her there, and bowed her head in unison with the worship of ages.
Garth was playing the "Veni, Creator Spiritus" to Attwood's perfect setting; and, as Jane walked noiselessly up to the chancel, he began to sing the words of the second verse.

He sang them softly, but his beautifully modulated barytone carried well, and every syllable reached her.
"Enable with perpetual light The dulness of our blinded sight; Anoint and cheer our soiled face With the abundance of Thy grace; Keep far our foes; give peace at home; Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come." Then the organ swelled into full power, pealing out the theme of the last verse without its words, and allowing those he had sung to repeat themselves over and over in Jane's mind: "Where Thou art Guide, no ill can come." Had she not prayed for guidance?
Then surely all would be well.
She paused at the entrance to the chancel.

Garth had returned to the second verse, and was singing again, to a waldflute accompaniment, "Enable with perpetual light--." Jane seated herself in one of the old oak stalls and looked around her.
The brilliant sunshine from without entered through the stained-glass windows, mellowed into golden beams of soft amber light, with here and there a shaft of crimson.