Sunday before last, is quite to the point,' he
continued, with the pronunciation of a man who, far from having intended
to tell a week-day story a moment earlier, had thought of nothing but
Sabbath matters for several weeks. 'What did he gain after all by his
restlessness? Had he remained in the city of the Jebusites, and not been
so anxious for Gibeah, none of his troubles would have arisen.'

'But he had wasted five days already,' said Knight, closing his eyes
to the vicar's commendable diversion. 'His fault lay in beginning the
tarrying system originally.'

'True, true; my illustration fails.'

'But not the hospitality which prompted the story.'

'So you are to come just the same,' urged Mrs. Swancourt, for she had
seen an almost imperceptible fall of countenance in her stepdaughter at
Knight's announcement.

Knight half promised to call on his return journey; but the uncertainty
with which he spoke was quite enough to fill Elfride with a regretful
interest in all he did during the few remaining hours. The curate having
already officiated twice that day in the two churches, Mr. Swancourt had
undertaken the whole of the evening service, and Knight read the lessons
for him. The sun streamed across from the dilapidated west window, and
lighted all the assembled worshippers with a golden glow, Knight as he
read being illuminated by the same mellow lustre. Elfride at the organ
regarded him with a throbbing sadness of mood which was fed by a sense
of being far removed from his sphere. As he went deliberately through
the chapter appointed--a portion of the history of Elijah--and ascended
that magnificent climax of the wind, the earthquake, the fire, and
the still small voice, his deep tones echoed past with such apparent
disregard of her existence, that his presence inspired her with a
forlorn sense of unapproachableness, which his absence would hardly have
been able to cause.

At the same time, turning her face for a moment to catch the glory of
the dying sun as it fell on his form, her eyes were arrested by the
shape and aspect of a woman in the west gallery. It was the bleak barren
countenance of the widow Jethway, whom Elfride had not seen much of
since the morning of her return with Stephen Smith. Possessing the
smallest of competencies, this unhappy woman appeared to spend her life
in journeyings between Endelstow Churchyard and that of a village near
Southampton, where her father and mother were laid.

She h