Ferdinand sat in the Barfield pew, and Ruth sat opposite. Why, the philtre was working more and more! She was so conscious that she seemed scarcely able to raise her eyes; and when, as happened no less than three times, she met his glance, she looked down in the sweetest confusion. The victorious young gentleman was so absorbed in his own reflections that he took but little note of the service, and suffered his attention to it to be for the most part mechanical. But on a sudden a certain quite indefinable sense of general interest touched him. Something was doing, or was going to be done, which was not altogether in the common.
“I publish banns of marriage,” said Parson Hales, in those generous old port-wine tones of his, “between Reuben Gold, bachelor, and Ruth Fuller, spinster, both of this parish, and—”
Mr. Ferdinand de Blacquaire realized with a shocking suddenness and vividness that he was an ass and a puppy. He learned later on that he was not absolutely either, but he gets a twinge out of “I publish banns of marriage,” even unto this day.
Sennacherib, who sat near Reuben in the music-gallery, nudged him with his elbow.
“Knowest what's what?” he whispered, to the younger man's prodigious scandal and discomfort. “Hast got the best wench i' the parish.”
Reuben would willingly have chosen another time and place for the receipt of congratulations.
Both Rachel and Ezra were in church, and each looked seriously and sadly down, thinking of what might have been.
When service was over the ringers met by previous arrangement, and startled Heydon Hay with a peal. Ezra was at Rachel's side when the flood of sound descended on them and drowned his salutation. But they shook hands, and walked away side by side until they reached the front of Ezra's house, when Rachel turned to say good-by.
“I'll walk a little way if you'll permit it, Miss Blythe,” said Ezra; and the old maid assenting, they walked on until the strenuous clang of the bells was softened into music. “They'll mek a handsome couple,” said Ezra, breaking the silence.
“Upon acquaintance with the young man,” said Rachel, “I discover many admirable qualities in him.” The speech was prim still, and was likely to continue so, but it had lost something, and had gained something. It would be hard to say what it had lost or gained, and yet the change was there, and Ezra marked it, and thought the voice tenderer and more womanly. Perhaps the flood-tide of youth which had swept over her heart at their reconciliation had not entirely ebbed away, and its inward music lent an echo to her speech. If it were there still, it was that which lent some of its own liquid sweetness to her look. Not much, perhaps, and yet a little, and discernible.