He tried to fix his thoughts
on his own prayer, but the words ran on as mechanically as might water
flow over a stone. The serious danger of a ritualistic religion must
always be that the mere repetition of words shall come to answer for an
act of worship; and to-night Maurice might have exclaimed with King
Claudius:--
"My words fly up; my thoughts remain below."
The service went on with its deep, appealing prayers for pardon, for
help, for uplifting, and Maurice followed it only half consciously. It
was as if he were drugged, so that only now and then a phrase
penetrated to his real consciousness,--words which in their instant and
particular application were so poignant that he could not avoid their
force.
"'From all inordinate and sinful affections,'" repeated the rich voice
of Mr. Candish, thrilling the church from floor to vaulted, roof, "'and
from the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil.'"
"'Good Lord, deliver us!'" swelled the response of the congregation;
and on the lips of the deacon the words were almost a groan.
He lost himself then in a flood of bitter repentance and prayer, hardly
realizing where he was or what was passing around him.
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