After a few moments he shifted his seat; it was almost indelicate to be so aware of her.

But Stransom subsequently quite lost himself, floating away on the sea of light.

If occasions like this had been more frequent in his life he would have had more present the great original type, set up in a myriad temples, of the unapproachable shrine he had erected in his mind.

That shrine had begun in vague likeness to church pomps, but the echo had ended by growing more distinct than the sound.

The sound now rang out, the type blazed at him with all its fires and with a mystery of radiance in which endless meanings could glow.