Peter had never heard a hymn sung so before.  First the organ would peal alone; then the men’s voices unaided would take up the refrain; then the organ again; then the clear treble of the boys; then, like waves breaking on immemorial cliffs, organ, trumpets, boys, men, and congregation would thunder out together till the blood raced in his veins and his eyes were too dim to see.

Down the central aisle at last they came, and Peter knelt with the rest.  He saw how the boys went before throwing flowers; how in pairs, as the censers were recharged, the thurifers walked backward before the three beneath the canopy, of whom one, white-haired and old, bore That in the monstrance which all adored.  In music and light and colour and scent the Host went by, as It had gone for centuries in that ancient place, and Peter knew, all bewildered as he was, there, by the side of the girl, that a new vista was opening before his eyes.

It was not that he understood as yet, or scarcely so.  In a few minutes all had passed them, and he rose and turned to see the end.  He watched while, amid the splendour of that court, with singers and ministers and thurifers arranged before, the priest ascended to enthrone the Sacrament in the place prepared for It.  With banks of flowers behind, and the glitter of electric as well as of candle light, the jewelled rays of the monstrance gleaming and the organ pealing note on note in a triumphant ecstasy, the old, bent priest placed That he carried there, and sank down before It.  Then all sound of singing and of movement died away, and from that kneeling crowd one lone, thin voice, but all unshaken, cried to Heaven of the need of men.  It was a short prayer and he could not understand it, but it seemed to Peter to voice his every need, and to go on and on till it reached the Throne.  The “Amen” beat gently about him, and he sank his face in his hands.

But only for a second.  The next he was lifted to his feet.  All that had gone before was as nothing to this volume of praise that shook, it seemed to him, the very carven roof above and swept the ancient walls in waves of sound.

Adoremus in aeternum Sanctissimum Sacramentum, cried men on earth, and, as it seemed to him, the very angels of God.

But outside he collected his thoughts.  “Well,” he said.  “I’m glad I’ve been, but I shan’t go again.”

“Why not?” demanded Louise.  “It was most beautiful.  I have never ’eard it better.”

“Oh yes, it was,” said Peter; “the music and singing were wonderful, but—­forgive me if I hurt you, but I can’t help saying it—­I see now what our people mean when they say it is nothing less than idolatry.”

“Idolatry?” queried Louise, stumblingly and bewildered.  “But what do you mean?”

“Well,” said Peter, “the Sacrament is, of course, a holy thing, a very holy thing, the sign and symbol of Christ Himself, but in that church sign and symbol were forgotten; the Sacrament was worshipped as if it were very God.”