The tall windows on either side of the pulpit were composed of painted glass. There were no idolatrous representations in the windows; only geometrical figures—Alec knew their number, and the colour of each one of them, intimately.
At Free St. Simon’s the modern habit of standing during psalm-singing had been introduced. The attitude to be observed at prayer was as yet a moot question. Custom varied upon the point. The older members of the congregation stood up and severely regarded their fellow-worshippers, who kept their seats, propped their feet on their hassocks, put their arms on the book-boards, and leant their heads upon their arms. This posture Alec found to be highly conducive to slumber; and he had much difficulty in keeping awake, but he did not care to proclaim himself one of the ‘unco guid’ by rising to his feet, and protesting in that way against the modern laxity of manners.
The prayer was a very long one, but at last it was over; and then came a chapter read from the Bible, another portion of a psalm, and the sermon. The preacher was both a good man and a learned one, but oratory was not his strong point; and if it had been, he might well have been excused for making no attempt to exert it at such a time and under such circumstances. The text, Alec remembered afterwards, was ‘One Lord, one Father of all,’ and the sermon was an elaborate attempt to prove that the Creator was in no proper sense the ‘Father’ of all men, but of the elect only. The young student listened for a time, and then fell to castle-building, an occupation of which he was perilously fond.
When the regulation hour-and-a-half had come to a close, the congregation was dismissed; and Alec Lindsay went back to his lodgings, weary, depressed, and discontented. After tea there was absolutely nothing for him to do. He did not feel inclined to read a religious book; and recreations of any kind were absolutely forbidden by the religion in which he had been brought up. After an hour spent in idling about his room, he set out to find a church at which there was evening service, thinking that to hear another sermon would be less wearisome than solitude.
Wandering through the streets, which at that hour were almost deserted, he at last heard a church bell begin to ring, and following the sound he came to a stone building, surmounted by a belfry. After a little hesitation, Alec Lindsay entered, and was conducted by the pew-opener to a seat. The area of the building was filled with very high-backed pews, set close together, and a large gallery ran round three of the walls; but the chapel was evidently not a Presbyterian place of worship, for on either side of the lofty pulpit was a reading-desk, nearly as high as the pulpit itself.
Presently the bell stopped, and an organ placed in the gallery opposite the pulpit began to sound. Then a clergyman in white surplice and black stole ascended to the reading-desk on the right of the central pulpit, and Alec Lindsay knew that he was, for the first time in his life, in an ‘Episcopal’ chapel.
The service was conducted in the plainest manner possible. The psalms were read, the canticles alone being chanted; and the clergyman, as he read the prayers, faced the congregation. The hymns were of a pronounced Evangelical type, and the sternest Calvinist could have found no fault with the sermon. But to Alec all was so entirely new and strange that he sometimes found it difficult to remember that he was supposed to be engaged in worship.
The prayers were over, and the sermon had begun, when Alec noticed, at some little distance, a face, the sight of which made his hand tremble and his heart beat. It was Laura Mowbray. She was sitting alone in her corner, her only companion being a maidservant, who sat at the door of the pew. Her profile was turned towards Alec, its clear white outline showing against the dark panelling behind her. Almost afraid to look in her direction, for fear of attracting her attention, or of allowing those sitting near him to guess what was passing in his mind, he took only a glance now and then at the object of his worship. It was worship, rather than love, with Alec Lindsay. Courtship, and marriage, and the practical considerations which these things entail, never entered the boy’s mind. He had seen his ideal of beauty, of refinement, of feminine grace; and he was content, for the present at least, to worship her at a distance, himself unseen.
When the service was over, he left the chapel, and placed himself at an angle outside the gateway, where he could see her as she passed out. He recognised her figure as soon as it appeared, but to his great disappointment her face was turned from him. By chance, however, she looked back to see if the maid were following her, and for one instant he had a full view of her face. It was enough, and without a thought of accosting her, Alec went home satisfied.