her black dress
and black apron. She rose to meet the visitors. With Edgar she was
cordial, but with Miriam cold and rather grudging. Yet Paul thought the
girl looked so nice in her brown cashmere frock.

He helped his mother to get the tea ready. Miriam would have gladly
proffered, but was afraid. He was rather proud of his home. There was
about it now, he thought, a certain distinction. The chairs were only
wooden, and the sofa was old. But the hearthrug and cushions were
cosy; the pictures were prints in good taste; there was a simplicity in
everything, and plenty of books. He was never ashamed in the least of
his home, nor was Miriam of hers, because both were what they should be,
and warm. And then he was proud of the table; the china was pretty, the
cloth was fine. It did not matter that the spoons were not silver nor
the knives ivory-handled; everything looked nice. Mrs. Morel had managed
wonderfully while her children were growing up, so that nothing was out
of place.

Miriam talked books a little. That was her unfailing topic. But Mrs.
Morel was not cordial, and turned soon to Edgar.

At first Edgar and Miriam used to go into Mrs. Morel's pew. Morel never
went to chapel, preferring the public-house. Mrs. Morel, like a little
champion, sat at the head of her pew, Paul at the other end; and at
first Miriam sat next to him. Then the chapel was like home. It was a
pretty place, with dark pews and slim, elegant pillars, and flowers. And
the same people had sat in the same places ever since he was a boy. It
was wonderfully sweet and soothing to sit there for an hour and a half,
next to Miriam, and near to his mother, uniting his two loves under the
spell of the place of worship. Then he felt warm and happy and religious
at once. And after chapel he walked home with Miriam, whilst Mrs. Morel
spent the rest of the evening with her old friend, Mrs. Burns. He was
keenly alive on his walks on Sunday nights with Edgar and Miriam. He
never went past the pits at night, by the lighted lamp-house, the tall
black headstocks and lines of trucks, past the fans spinning slowly like
shadows, without the feeling of Miriam returning to him, keen and almost
unbearable.

She did not very long occupy the Morels' pew. Her father took one for
themselves once more. It was under the little gallery, opposite the
Morels'. When Paul and his mother came in the chapel the Leivers's pew
was always empty. He was anxious for fear she would not