The Bishop was waiting also, and he too had his eyes fixed on old Anthony's portrait, a straight, level-eyed gaze, as of man to man, as of prince of the church to prince of industry. The Bishop's eyes said: “All shall be done properly and in order, and as befits the Cardews, Anthony.”
The Bishop was as successful in his line as Anthony Cardew had been in his. He cleared his throat.
The organist sat at the great organ behind the staircase, waiting. He was playing very softly, with his eyes turned up. He had played the same music many times before, and always he felt very solemn, as one who makes history. He sighed. Sometimes it seemed to him that he was only an accompaniment to life, to which others sang and prayed, were christened, confirmed and married. But what was the song without the music? He wished the scullery maid would stop crying.
Grayson touched him on the arm.
“All ready, sir,” he said.
Willy Cameron stood at the foot of the staircase, looking up.