Ora_"-- "The hour flies.

Pray." As I came slowly and softly up the aisle, I fancied Eleanor was kneeling, but a strange British shame of prayer made her start to her feet and kept me from kneeling also; though the peculiar peace and devout solemnity which seemed to be the very breath of that ancient House of God made me long to do something more expressive of my feelings than stand and stare.
There was no handsome church at Riflebury; the one the Bullers "attended" when we were at the seaside was new, and not beautiful.

The one Miss Mulberry took us to was older, but uglier.

I had never seen one of these old parish churches.

This cathedral among the moors, with its massive masonry, its dark oak carving, its fragments of gorgeous glass, its ghostly hatchments and banners, and its aisles paved with the tombstones of the dead, was a new revelation.
I was silent awhile in very awe.