"Hear my prayer, Oh, God, incline Thine ear, Thyself from my distresses do not hide ..."
The voice rose, soaring through the building to meet the silver stars and the naked cherubs on the ceiling. "The enemy shouteth ... The enemy shouteth ..."
Skeaton sat enraptured. Women let the tears stream down their faces, men blew their noses.
Once again the voice arose.
"Hear my prayer, Oh, God, incline Thine ear ..."
It was Maggie's voice, Maggie's cry. From the very heart of the charlatanism she cried out, appealing to a God who might exist or no, she could not tell, but who seemed now to be leading her by the hand. She saw Aunt Anne at St. Dreot's whispering "The Lord is my Shepherd. He shall lead me ..."
In a dream she shared in the rest of the ceremony. In a dream she passed with the others out of the building. The sea air blew about her; down the promenade she could see the people, she could see the silver stars in the sky, the faint orange light of the lanterns, the dim stretch of the sand, and then the grey sea. She heard the splash and withdrawal of the tide, the murmur of many voices, the singing of the distant hymn, the blare of the trumpet.
Strange and mysterious, the wind blowing through it all like a promise of beauty and splendour to come ...
She turned in the starlit dark, separated herself from the crowd, and hurried home.
In the hall on the table under the lamp she saw a letter. She saw that it was addressed to her and that the writing was Amy Warlock's. Before she picked it up she stood there listening. The house was very still. Grace and Paul had probably begun supper. She picked up the letter and went up to her bedroom.