“And you come in here to pray often?”
She shook her head vehemently, and pointed outside.
“I see. You stay outside?”
Again she nodded.
Then he held the curtain aside, and she passed out, he following her.
The church without was black.
Rosalie gave a muttered cry of dismay—the building was so large, its pews, and steps, and labyrinths all so intricate. But her companion produced a light that glowed like a thin taper, but burnt with a clearer and a stronger light, and plainly lit the church around them.
“Never trust to the church to give you light,” said he whimsically, “unless, as now, you penetrate to the Holy of Holies!”
Rosalie smiled; she felt it was but polite, unaccustomed as she was to strangers.
Together they walked down the long aisle, and once she stole a glance up at him sideways, with great curiosity, to see what he was like. But the stranger was looking at her, and she bent her head downward again. She evidently did not possess the gift of sweet unconsciousness of self.