Since her sect is proclaimed beyond the boundaries of dogma it
may have been some other obscurity, but my appraisement fails.
"No, I never go there. We raise our own Ebenezer; we are a tabernacle to
ourselves."
"Isn't it exquisite--her way of speaking!" cried Hilda from the bed, and
Laura glanced at her with a deprecating, reproachful smile, in reproof
of an offence admittedly incorrigible. But she went on as if she were
conscious of a stimulus.
"Wherever the morning sky bends or the stars cluster is sanctuary
enough," she said: "a slum at noonday is as holy for us as daisied
fields; the Name of the Lord walks with us. The Army is His Army. He is
Lord of our hosts."
"A kind of chant," murmured Hilda, and Miss Livingstone became aware
that she might if she liked play with the beginnings of magnetism. Then
that impression was carried away, as it were, on a puff of air, and it
is hardly likely that she thought of it again.
"I suppose all the _elite_ go to the Cathedral," Laura said. The
sanctity of her face was hardly disturbed, but a curiosity rested upon
it, and behind the curiosity a far-off little leaping tongue of some
other thing. Hilda on the bed named it the constant feminine and
narrowed her eyes.
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