"No." The day was so hot, he thought he should stay at home.
Harriet looked for a moment undecided whether she should permit this act of rebellion to pass unnoticed; but seeing Margaret about to leave the room, she joined her, and they went down stairs together.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick declined being of the party to the church. She would wait till Mr. Haveloc returned from town; and then he should be her cicerone. She was not so very fond of architecture for its own sake—but Margaret was. She had no doubt the expedition would delight Margaret.
So they set off—Lady Raymond, Harriet and Margaret—through a most beautiful country, and a great many steep, uneven, narrow roads. At last, the church, low in a valley, and buried among old trees, came in sight.
"I never was so glad to see a steeple before," said Harriet. "Why it is twelve miles off! I am knocked up, and so are you, child. How pale you look!"
A low, heavy oaken gate admitted them into the church-yard. They left the carriage without, and stood looking at the building. It was a beautiful church. The pencil of Cattermole might almost weary in recording the elaborate carving of the stonework about the windows, and the deep porch. The doors were open, for the workmen were about some of the pillars and scaffolds, and tools still announced their occupation within.
The organ was pealing, and the rich sound swelled into the quiet church-yard.
"They have a blind organist here," said Lucy. "He plays admirably. Listen—Mozart's mass in C."
"Beautiful! how fine the Gloria sounds," said Harriet. "What a movement!"
"I wish the Protestant Church was musical," said Lucy, as they walked up the aisle.