A moment later Mr. Miles, pink and twinkling, emerged from the
background, as if buoyed up on his broad white gown, and briskly
dominated the bowed heads in the front rows. He prayed energetically and
briefly and then retired, and a fierce nod from Lambert Sollas warned
the girls that they were to follow at once with "Home, Sweet Home." It
was a joy to Charity to sing: it seemed as though, for the first time,
her secret rapture might burst from her and flash its defiance at the
world. All the glow in her blood, the breath of the summer earth,
the rustle of the forest, the fresh call of birds at sunrise, and the
brooding midday languors, seemed to pass into her untrained voice,
lifted and led by the sustaining chorus.
And then suddenly the song was over, and after an uncertain pause,
during which Miss Hatchard's pearl-grey gloves started a furtive
signalling down the hall, Mr. Royall, emerging in turn, ascended the
steps of the stage and appeared behind the flower-wreathed desk. He
passed close to Charity, and she noticed that his gravely set face wore
the look of majesty that used to awe and fascinate her childhood.
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