It was the first time Zillah had ever been in a cathedral; and the vastness and glory of it swept over her almost as a reassuring sense of a greater God than she had worshipped in dingy synagogues. She walked about solemnly, leading Brum by the hand, her breast swelling with suppressed sobs of hope. Her eyes roved everywhere, searching for the Pope; but at moments she well-nigh forgot her disappointment at his absence in the wonder and ghostly comfort of the great dim spaces, and the mysterious twinkle of the countless lights before the bronze canopy with its golden-flashing columns.
"Where are we, mother?" said Brum at last.
"We are waiting for the doctor."
"But where?"
"In the waiting-room."
"It seems very large, mother."
"No, I am walking round and round."
"There is a strange smell, mother,—I don't know what—something religious."
"Oh, nonsense!" She laughed uneasily.
"I know what it smells like: cold marble pillars and warm coloured windows."