One thinks of the little, slender hands
that used to put them there, and of the eyes that confronted
themselves in the silver mirror under the warm shadow that the
red-gold mass cast upon the white forehead. This sanctuary of the
past was the most interesting place in that most interesting city
of York, and the day of our first visit a princess of New York
sat reading a book in the midst of it, waiting for the rain to be
over, which was waiting for her to come out and then begin again.
We knew her from having seen her at the station in relation to
some trunks bearing her initials and those of her native city;
and she could be about the age of the York princess or young
Roman lady whose hair was kept in the urn hard by.
X
There is in York a little, old, old church, whose dear and
reverend name I have almost forgotten, if ever I knew it, but I
think it is Holy Trinity Goodramgate, which divides the heart of
my adoration with the Minster. We came to it quite by accident,
one of our sad September afternoons, after we had been visiting
the Guildhall, Venetianly overhanging the canal calm of the Ouse,
and very worthy to be seen for its York histories in stained
glass.
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