As he reached it
and paused, a servant slipped out and received the stick from him. The
priest made the sign of the cross, and took up the amice from the
vestments that lay folded on the altar. He was already in his cassock.
Isabel watched each movement with a deep agonising interest; he was so
frail and broken, so bent in his figure, so slow and feeble in his
movements. He made an attempt to raise the amice but could not, and
turned slightly; and the man from behind stepped up again and lifted it
for him. Then he helped him with each of the vestments, lifted the alb
over his head and tenderly drew the bandaged hands through the sleeves;
knit the girdle round him; gave him the stole to kiss and then placed it
over his neck and crossed the ends beneath the girdle and adjusted the
amice; then he placed the maniple on his left arm, but so tenderly! and
lastly, lifted the great red chasuble and dropped it over his head and
straightened it--and there stood the priest as he had stood last Sunday,
in crimson vestments again; but bowed and thin-faced now.
Then he began the preparation with the servant who knelt beside him in
his ordinary livery, as server; and Isabel heard the murmur of the Latin
words for the first time. Then he stepped up to the altar, bent slowly
and kissed it and the mass began.
Isabel had a missal, lent to her by Mistress Margaret; but she hardly
looked at it; so intent was she on that crimson figure and his strange
movements and his low broken voice.
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