We stood upon the threshold and looked down the dim, grand aisle.
No painter ever yet imagined in his fondest, highest dream a scene of richer grandeur. In place of the straight-backed pews of churches, jewelled thrones ranged tier behind tier, meeting the eye with ever-gleaming, changing light. Over the font there hung by finest cords of diamond and ruby intermingled, a royal crown, its golden background hidden by gems. A great golden bird spread out its giant wings below us, every feather tipped with curious light, and on its back rested the mighty Bible opened at the Gospel according to St John. The twelve Apostles stood out in bold relief around the pulpit, and from the tasseled cushion on the desk a simple cross was hanging in needlework of gold.
Yet all this glittering, gleaming brilliancy was subdued by the dimness of the light, and the organ-loft shone out almost as from a mist of unreal glamour.
She paused beside the open door and looked behind. I stood and looked upon it too.
“What wealth! what countless millions have been spent on this,” I murmured.
She laughed; and when she laughed it seemed as if the jewels gleamed more magically.
“Yes,” she affirmed, “countless millions have been spent. It is the work of ages, and has been built to the glory and praise of God Eternal.”
Then she turned away, and I turned too and gazed within the doorway.
A large hall of great expanse met our eyes. From its sides many doors led off, and passages, and here and there on the right side high windows opened on the gardens we had left.
I had hoped on leaving the dim church to throw off the deep depression that hung round me, but it was hopeless.