She nodded and passed on, just as Isabel came out of the shop.
“Wasn’t that Delia Hunt?” said Isabel, as she got into the pony-cart; “what is the matter? Her face looked like the sky when thunder is coming.”
Delia felt as she looked, as though a storm were rising within her. She thought of the Professor’s little feast prepared so carefully, the flowers, the high-backed chair standing ready for the guest who never came. She could not bear to imagine his disappointment. How could Anna be so blind, so insensible? All her hard feelings towards her returned, and they were the more intense because she could speak of them to no one—a storm without the relief of thunder. She had a half-dread of her next meeting with Mr Goodwin, for with this resentment in her heart it would be difficult to talk about Anna with patience, and yet the meeting must come very soon.
The next day was Wednesday, on which evening it was his custom to stay in the church after service and play the organ for some time. Delia, who was generally his only listener, would wait for him, and they would either stroll home together, or, if it were warm weather, sit for a little while under a certain tree near the church. They both looked forward to those meetings, but this week, when the time came, and Delia mounted the steep street which led up to the church, she almost wished that the Professor might not be there.
Dornton church was perched upon a little hill, so that, though it was in the town, it stood high above it, and its tall, grey spire made a landmark for miles round. The churchyard, carefully planted with flowers, and kept in good order, sloped sharply down to old gabled houses on one side, and on the other to open meadows, across which the tower of Waverley church could be just seen amongst the trees. On this side a wooden bench, shadowed by a great ash, had been let into the low wall, and it was to this that Delia and the Professor were in the habit of repairing after the Wednesday evening services.
Mr Goodwin’s music had always power to soothe Delia, and to raise her thoughts above her daily troubles; but to-night, as she sat listening to him in the empty church, she felt even more than usual as if a mighty and comforting voice were speaking to her. As long as the resounding notes of the organ continued, she forgot the little bustle of Dornton, and her anger against Anna, and even when the Professor had finished and joined her in the porch, the calming influence remained.
“Can you stay a little this evening?” he asked, as they walked through the churchyard together; “if you can spare time I should like a talk. It’s about Anna,” he continued, when they were seated under the flickering shadow of the ash tree; “I didn’t see her the other evening, after all—”
“So I heard,” said Delia.
“No—I didn’t see her,” repeated Mr Goodwin, poking the ground reflectively with his stick. “She went to some cricket match with her friends; she’s to come to me another time. It’s very kind of Mrs Palmer to give her so much pleasure. I suppose Anna enjoys it very much? I hear of her going about with them a good deal.”
“I think she does,” said Delia.