The mellow, softly-tinted light from a hundred lofty windows bathed the clustering pillars, the magnificent nave and choir in a soft, roseate glow. To the girls it seemed that all the glory, all the romance, all the pomp and splendid grandeur of the ages lay embodied there.
Lucile’s hand was cold as it rested on her father’s. “Dad,” she breathed, “it almost makes you feel the wonderful scenes it has witnessed.”
“Do you wish to be shown about the Abbey?” The calm voice startled them and they turned sharply.
“Why, yes,” said Mr. Payton to the tall, thin, aesthetic-looking young man who stood regarding them blandly. “We will be glad to have you act as guide.”
This the young man did, and to such good effect that the girls and Phil were soon hanging on every word.
The magnificent choir held for them especial interest, for it was there had taken place the gorgeous coronations of the kings of England from the time of Harold.
“It seems like a fairy tale, anyway,” said Jessie, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked. “Why, to think of all the great monarchs of England—Richard the Third and Henry the Eighth and Queen Elizabeth—actually being crowned on this spot! Why, it is the next best thing to seeing the coronation itself!”
From there the party passed into the north transept, where lay, for the most part, the great statesmen and warriors of England.
But it was in the south transept, in the poets’ corner, where were erected memorials of the great English writers, that our party was most interested. Chaucer, Shakespeare, Thackeray, Dickens—magic names, names to conjure with!
Their English guide grew more eloquent and his face flushed with pride as he went into eulogies of these great men who had made England famous in the literary world. 124