But now, while he listened to that unseen singer's voice, his mother came back to him; there, in the golden haze of that Indian-summer morning, he felt as conscious of her near presence as if his eyes beheld her.
"Bread of heaven, Bread of heaven,
Feed me till I want no more,"
sang the voice, and it seemed to ring up to the very courts of heaven with a great cry of hunger and longing.
Never had Percy so felt the craving in his own soul for heavenly manna, and for something beyond and greater than himself on which to lean, as at this moment.
It seemed to him, that he could not rest until he had looked upon the face of the singer.
He entered the church, and sat down in an unoccupied pew near the door.
The singing had ceased, and from his position the choir was entirely hidden from view by a curtain.
Percy sat through the long and tedious sermon, and listened with impatience to the dreary, uncomforting discourse.
"No wonder," thought he, "that the singer put so much pleading into her cry for 'Bread of heaven,' if she derives her spiritual sustenance from the droppings of this sanctuary. The weary soul would faint by the wayside, who depended upon such food."