The music
swelled and eddied; there was a genuine "Kyrie," wherein a single
voice, a rich contralto, wailed and implored in a passion of
supplication until the whole congregation quivered with the fervor of
the music. Maurice felt himself swayed and lifted upon the rising tide
of emotion. He lost his anger, he swam in billows of celestial delight;
a blessed peace soothed his troubled soul; he knew again some of the
old-time ecstasy. Yet in all this religious fervor there was some
subtle consciousness that it was unreal. He was not able so completely
to give himself up to it as to fail to watch its growth, its progress,
its intensity; he was vexed that he should trap himself, as it were,
glorying in the susceptibility to religious influences which such
excitement showed. He had even a whimsical, momentary irritation that
the part of his mind which was acting the devotee could not do it so
well that his other consciousness could not detect the unreality of it
all. Then he struggled to forget everything in the service; to steep
himself in the spiritual intoxication of the hour.
The girl whom he had introduced into the pew dropped her prayer-book.
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