ANDR. (looking off). It’s over. They’re coming out.
MARK. Why aren’t you there, in church, by her side?
ANDR. I was. I went to church with her. I stood up first and answered all his questions, and then I stood aside, and it was her turn. I saw her step forward, and I noticed a little twitch of her lip like her mother used to have, and then—I couldn’t bear it any longer—I came away. I know it was cowardly, but I couldn’t stay. (Looking off.) Hark! They’re coming! She’s coming with the sister who is going to take her away.
MARK. Take her away?
ANDR. Mr. Feversham thinks it better for her to be away from the gossip of the village, so he has found a home for her with some sisters in London. She’s going straight off there. Perhaps it’s best. I don’t know.
(ROSE GIBBARD, sobbing, with her face in her hands, passes the window from right to left, supported by an Anglican sister. The REVEREND MICHAEL FEVERSHAM follows them and passes window. A crowd of villagers come up to the window and look in. A moment or two later, ROSE GIBBARD enters left, supported by the sister. ROSE is a pretty delicate girl of about twenty, with rather refined features and bearing.)
ANDR. (holding out his arms to her). Bear up, my dear. Don’t cry! It breaks my heart to see you.
Enter the REVEREND MICHAEL FEVERSHAM about forty; pale, strong, calm, ascetic, scholarly face, with much sweetness and spirituality of expression; very dignified, gentle manners, calm, strong, persuasive voice, rarely raised above an ordinary speaking tone. His whole presence and bearing denote great strength of character, great dignity, great gentleness, and great self-control.
The villagers gather round the outside of the window and look in with mingled curiosity, rudeness, and respect. MICHAEL goes up to left window, opens it. The villagers draw back a little.