Then suddenly there was a cry, and Constance turned to see Miss Archer running swiftly forward to the altar steps. A chair fell with a clatter on the stone floor as she swept blindly through the chancel. Arrived at the altar, she stopped abruptly and gazed straight before her between the six candles. Then she cried out again and turned swiftly, her arms outstretched like some distraught bat, which had blundered into a lighted globe.
“The crucifix,” she screamed, “he has taken it away,” and, still screaming, she fell to the ground, rolling down the steps in some kind of fit.
The music ceased abruptly, and Constance ran forward to where Miss Archer lay, insensible, with foam upon her lips. Then, as she bent over her patient, a voice came sternly from the end of the chapel.
“What has been
