Part 6 (2/2)
Then followed a recitative of various selected pa.s.sages from the ”Sermon in the Hospital,” in tones so musical and liquid, and with a repose of manner so profound, yet full of subtle magnetism, that his audience gazed in sympathetic wonder at the slight figure clad in the sombre habit of his order--at the thin, pallid spiritual face where large, deep-set black eyes burned with the preternatural light of consecrated but consuming zeal. The folded arms attempted no gestures--what need, while that rhythmic wave of sound flowed on?--until the end, when the clasped hands were lifted in final appeal:
”... the Cross of Christ Is more to us than all His miracles.
Thou wilt not see the face nor feel the hand, Only the cruel crus.h.i.+ng of the feet When through the bitter night the Lord comes down To tread the winepress. Not by sight, but faith, Endure, endure--be faithful to the end.”
Unconscious of his movement, and irresistibly drawn, the young soloist sitting in the front row of choristers had risen, and leaning far forward, looked up into the face of the priest, like one mesmerized, his parted lips trembling in a pa.s.sion of ecstasy. Then the organ boomed, and the boy fell from paradise and joined the choristers chanting as they marched away behind the uplifted cross.
A lady stepped into the aisle and touched Eglah's arm.
”So glad to see you here, Miss Kent. Shall always welcome you to my pew.
What a delightful elocutionary _tour de force_ Father Temple gave us! He would make a fortune on the stage of secular drama.”
”Yes. Fra Ugo himself could scarcely have been more impressive when he talked to the sick and dying on hospital cots. To my cousin Vernon this world is only a hospital of sick souls. Mrs. St. Clair, I should like to meet that little boy who sang so beautifully. Can you help me?”
”Very easily. Come back with me now to the vestry and we may find him.
Did you notice how that lovely boy seemed almost hypnotized?”
Only two of the larger choristers lingered, chatting with the choirmaster, and as they turned toward the rear stairway leading to the street, Mrs. St. Clair exclaimed:
”Mr. De Graffenried, stop the boys. We want to see the soloist. Call him back.”
”Madam, I think he is still in the chancel.”
Lifting the velvet curtain that concealed the altar from their view, she beckoned Eglah to her side.
Father Temple had been detained by one of the church-wardens, and as he turned to hasten away the boy, standing near, caught the black skirt of the priest.
”Please, sir, may I speak to you?”
”Certainly. I am glad to be able to thank you for the music to-day. Your solo gave me great pleasure.”
”I could have done better, but my throat is sore; it bled just now. I told n.o.body, because I am the only one who can reach that high C, and so I tried not to fail. I want to ask you how I can learn all the words you spoke? Oh, if I could, I would set them to a chant; they would lift my heart out of me if I could sing them.”
”You shall have them. What is your name?”
”Leighton Dane.”
Father Temple took his tablets from an inside pocket and made an entry.
”Where do you live?”
”Oh, a long way off. Far down in East ---- Street; but, please sir, if you would leave the poetry here, I could get it at next rehearsal.”
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