Anne, who felt that her soul had been overtaken, trapped, and bared to the outrage, removed herself by a yard's length till the hymn brought them together, linked by the book she could not withhold.

The music penetrated her soul and healed its hurt.
"Christian, doth thou see them, On the holy ground, How the troops of Midian Prowl and prowl around ?" sang Anne in a dulcet pianissimo, obedient to the choir.
Profound abstraction veiled him, a treacherous unspiritual calm.

Majendie was a man with a baritone voice, which at times possessed him like a furious devil.

It was sleeping in him now, biding its time, ready, she knew, to be roused by the first touch of a _crescendo_.

The _crescendo_ came.
"Christian! Up and fight them!" The voice waked; it leaped from him; and to Anne's terrified nerves it seemed to be scattering the voices of the choir before it.