A queer, jarring voice burst out violently in the dark quiet of the room.
It carried each sentence with a rush, making itself steady and hard.

"'...He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live....

"'I said, I will take heed to my ways: that I offend not with my
tongue--'"

"Not that one," her mother said.

"'O Lord, Thou hast been our refuge; from one generation to another.

"'Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the
world were made--'"

(Too fast. Much too fast. You were supposed to be following Mr. Propart;
but if you kept up that pace you would have finished the Service before
he had got through the Psalm.)

"'Lord God most holy--'"

"I can't _hear_ you, Mary."

"I'm sorry. 'O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Saviour,
deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death.

"'Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts: shut not Thy merciful
ears to our prayers: but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most Mighty, O
holy and merciful Saviour--'"