the last supper painting

the last supper painting
had, I daresay, momentarily fled: for I felt my forehead dewy, and
my cheeks and lips cold. When I rallied, which I soon did, he walked
gently with me up the path to the porch.
We entered the quiet and humble temple; the priest waited in his
white surplice at the lowly altar, the clerk beside him. All was
still: two shadows only moved in a remote corner. My conjecture had
been correct: the strangers had slipped in before us, and they now
stood by the vault of the Rochesters, their backs towards us,
viewing through the rails the old times-stained marble tomb, where a
kneeling angel guarded the remains of Damer de Rochester, slain at
Marston Moor in the time of the civil wars, and of Elizabeth, his
the last supper painting
Our place was taken at the communion rails. Hearing a cautious step
behind me, I glanced over my shoulder: one of the strangers- a
gentleman, evidently- was advancing up the chancel. The service began.
The explanation of the intent of matrimony was gone through; and
then the clergyman came a step farther forward, and, bending
slightly towards Mr. Rochester, went on.
the last supper painting
the last supper painting