“You will go to chapel to-night”.
“That I shan't”.
“Yes”
Silence.
A little before seven they left the cottage together for the chapel, Hogarth taking his hunting-crop—from habit; he had also a little Bible; in his jacket, tight at the slight waist, unbuttoned at the breast, lay the anonymous letter, and a little poetry-book, neither moon nor star lighting the night, bleak winds swooping like the typhoon among the year's dead leaves.
The chapel was a paltry place, though in the wall to the right of the preacher was a slab bearing the inscription:
ON THIS STONE
JOHN WESLEY PREACHED
IN THE VILLAGE, ON THE
9TH JULY 1768
And they sang a hymn; Hogarth “prayed”; read a chapter; once more the harmonium mourned; Hogarth gave the text: “God's way is in the sea...”
Even as he uttered it, he happened to glance toward the “mission-pew”—a square pew rather behind the pulpit: Margaret no longer there.
A paleness as of very death—then a dreadful wrath reddened his dark face.