And now the psalm which had rung in Gabriel’s ears as he awaited death, sounded indeed through the churchyard as Hilary walked towards the porch between Lord Hopton and her lover.
The villagers drew together in a group close by them, but little Nan and Meg being on the outskirts chanced to look back, and saw Waghorn standing afar off as though he had no part or lot in the service. With a kindly impulse they ran towards him.
“Don’t stand there so all alone,” said Nan, coaxingly, “come nearer!”
“Yes,” echoed Meg, “come nearer!”
Waghorn’s stern face relaxed. He sighed, but let them take him by the hand and draw him in with the rest.
EPILOGUE.
“I pray God our zeal in these times may be so kindled with pure fire from God’s altar that it may rather warm than burn, enliven rather than inflame, and that the spirits of good men may truly be qualified with Gospel principles, true fruits of the Divine Spirit. And truly I believe that the members of the Church, if not the leaders—notwithstanding all the perfections of times before us, so much pictured or applauded—have very much yet to learn. For I am persuaded that Christian love and affection is a point of such importance that it is not to be prejudiced by supposals of difference in points of religion in any ways disputable, though thought weighty as determined by the parties on either side; or by particular determinations beyond Scripture, which, as some have observed, have enlarged divinity, but have lessened charity and multiplied divisions. For the maintenance of truth is rather God’s charge, and the continuance of charity ours.”—Letters of Benjamin Whichcote, 1651.
And were they married here in this very porch where we’re sitting, grandfather?” said little Bobbie Coke, looking up into the Vicar’s kindly face, which the forty-five years had made only somewhat thinner and paler.