The
words tingled through the mind of Ashe like an electric shock. To his
excited feeling Strathmore was perjuring himself in the name of God,
since it was impossible to feel that the new bishop followed or
intended to follow either. He experienced a wild impulse to spring to
his feet and protest; he wondered if he only of all the persons in this
crowded church recognized the shocking irreligion of that vow. He
reflected that in the Catholic communion it would have been impossible
for popular suffrage to raise to the bishopric a man like this, a
heretic and a perjurer.
The service went on, and Philip sat in a sort of dull stupor. He could
not think clearly; he was only dreamily conscious of what was going on
about him. The music, the prayers, the solemn words were to him so
remote from his true self that he seemed to hear them through a veil of
distance. He had ceased to have part in this rite; he ceased even to
heed it.
Like one who is lost in idle musing, one who concerns himself with
trifling thoughts lest he realize too poignantly a bitter actuality,
Philip sat in his place, now and then glancing about the great church.
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