They entered. Fanny's imagination had prepared her for something grander than a mere spacious, oblong room, fitted up for the purpose of devotion: with nothing more striking or more solemn than the profusion of mahogany, and the crimson velvet cushions appearing over the ledge of the family gallery above. "I am disappointed," said she, in a low voice, to Edmund. "This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing awful here, nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here are no aisles, no arches, no inscriptions, no banners. No banners, cousin, to be 'blown by the night wind of heaven.' No signs that a 'Scottish monarch sleeps below.'"

They entered. Fanny expected something grander than a spacious, oblong room, fitted up for the purpose of devotion: with nothing more striking or solemn than the profusion of mahogany, and crimson velvet cushions.
"I am disappointed," said she quietly to Edmund. "This is not my idea of a chapel. There is nothing melancholy, nothing grand. Here are no aisles, no arches, no inscriptions. No banners to be 'blown by the night wind of heaven.'"
