I am glad that you are here now to listen to it.' He paused, and Hyacinth feared that he would relapse again into dreamy insensibility; but he did not.
'I think,' he said, 'that I should like to pray before I speak to you.' He knelt down as Hyacinth had seen him kneel a thousand times before, facing the eastward-looking window, now a black, uncurtained square in the whitewashed wall.

What he said was almost unintelligible.

There was no petition nor even any sequence of ideas which could be traced.
He poured forth a series of ejaculations expressive of intense and rapturous delight, very strange to listen to in such a place and from an old man's lips.

Then the language he spoke changed from English into Gaelic, and there came a kind of hymn of adoration.

His sentences followed each other in metrical balance like the Latin of the old liturgies, and suited themselves naturally to a subdued melody, half chant, half cry, like the mourning of the keeners round a grave.