The delicate, intellectual face is a little pinched and transparent. Age has come, but it is to this faithful priest but as the rare bloom upon the fruits of peace and quiet.
How the thunderous voices peal in exultation!
Alleluia!
Christ is risen! The old man turned his head. His eyes were full of happy tears. He saw his daughter, a young and noble matron now, standing in a pew close to the chancel steps. He heard her pure voice, full of triumph. Christ is risen!
From his oak chair behind the altar rails Dean Gortre came down towards the pulpit.
Young still—strangely young for the dignity which they had pressed on him for two years before he would accept it—Basil ascended the steps.
Christ is risen!
The organ crashed; there was silence.
All the lights in the church were suddenly lowered to half their height.
The two candles in the pulpit shone brightly on the preacher's face.