But a few bars had sounded when a tall figure came noiselessly into the
room, and Mr. Robert Gray dropped into the seat before the fire which
his wife had lately occupied. With head thrown back he listened, and
when silence fell at the close of the performance, his deep voice was
the first to break it.
"To me," he said, "that is the slow flowing and receding of waves upon a
smooth and rocky shore. The sky is gray, but the atmosphere is warm and
friendly. It is all very restful, after a day of perturbation."
"Oh, is it like that to you?" queried Roberta softly, out of the
darkness. "To me it's as if I were walking down the nave of a great
cathedral--Westminster, perhaps--big and bare and wonderful, with the
organ playing ever so far away. The sun is shining outside and so it's
not gloomy, only very peaceful, and one can't imagine the world at the
doors." She looked over at her mother, whose face was just visible in
the shaded light. "What is it to you, lovely lady?"
"It is a prayer," said her mother slowly, "a prayer for peace and purity
in a restless world, yet a prayer for service, too. The one who prays
lies very low, with his face concealed, and his spirit is full of
worship.
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