Without a moment’s hesitation, Priscilla followed him. She entered the ante-chapel, sat down on a bench not far from the entrance door, and when the service began, she dropped on her knees, and covered her face with her hands.
The music came to her in soft waves of far-off harmony. The doors which divided the inner chapel from the outer gave it a faint sound, as if it were miles away; each note, however, was distinct; no sound was lost. The boys’ voices rose high in the air; they were angelic in their sweetness. Prissie was incapable, at that moment, of taking in the meaning of the words she heard, but the lovely sounds comforted her; the dreadful weight was lifted, or, at least, partially lifted, from her brain; she felt as if a hand had been laid on her hot, angry heart; as if a gentle, a very gentle, touch was soothing the sorrow there.
“I am ready now,” said Hammond, when the service was over; “will you come?”
She rose without a word, and went out with him into the quadrangle; they walked down the High Street.
“Are you going back to St. Benet’s?” he asked.
“Oh, no—oh, no!”
”‘Yes,’ you mean; I will walk with you as far as the gates.”
“I am not going back.”
“Pardon me,” said Hammond, “you must go back; so young a girl cannot take long walks alone. If one of your fellow-students were with you, it would be different.”
“I would not walk with one of them now for the world.”