And now O'Flaherty learned that all the time he had been thinking these things, Mrs. Rebell was well aware that there could be nothing permanent or avowable in her tie with Berwick; while Berwick, on his side, was playing the most delightful and absorbing of the great human games with dice so loaded that, come what might, he was bound to win. The barrister told himself that he had indeed been simple-minded to suppose that such a man as Arabella's brother would sacrifice to love the wealth which gave him an absolute and preeminent position among those he wished to lead. "A marriage of true minds?"—an ugly look came over the plain, strong face of the man sitting by Mrs. Rebell, and she, catching that look, wondered what hateful thought, or sudden physical discomfort, had brought it there.
But, when once he found himself kneeling in the humble little iron chapel, long habit acted on Daniel O'Flaherty's mind, cleared it of sordid images, made him think more charitable thoughts of the woman who crouched rather than knelt by his side, in what seemed a position of almost painful abasement. Poor Barbara Rebell! Mingling with the prayers he knew by heart, and which were, after all, one long supplication for mercy and forgiveness, came the slow conviction that she might not be deserving of so much condemnation as he had at first assumed. Perhaps she had come here, with him, to-day, to be out of the way of temptation, and not, as he had unkindly suspected, to satisfy an idle and not very healthy curiosity.
Busy as he had been last night in the music gallery with thoughts of his own self and Arabella, O'Flaherty had yet been aware that an eager colloquy was going on by the organ. He had heard Berwick's voice become urgent and imperious, and he had put down the other man's rather dramatic disappearance, and Mrs. Rebell's extreme quietude during the rest of the evening, to some lovers' quarrel between these two, who up to that time had required no such artificial stimulus to their passion. Perhaps what had taken place between them had been more tragic, for Mrs. Rebell looked to-day very unlike her gentle, composed self.
Barbara had risen from her knees, and sat apparently listening to the little sermon. The expression of her face suddenly recalled to Daniel O'Flaherty an evening in his life—that which had followed his parting from Arabella Berwick. He had been taken by friends to the play, and on leaving the theatre had found that his mind had retained absolutely nothing of what had gone on before him on the stage. Not to save his life could he have recalled a single scene, or even the most telling of the speeches to which he had been listening the last three hours. Doubtless he had then looked as Barbara looked now; and a feeling of great concern and infinite pity took the place of that which had filled his mind during the drive from Fletchings. But this new-born charity did not extend to Berwick; for him, O'Flaherty still felt nothing but condemnation.
They waited till the small congregation had streamed out, and then walked slowly down the little aisle. "You don't look fit to walk back. I expect I can easily get a carriage if you will wait a little while."
But Barbara answered with nervous decision, "I would much rather walk, in fact, I was about to ask you if you would mind going round by Chancton; it is scarcely out of our way, and I want to see Madame Sampiero."
"I beg you to send for me—to-day—home again. I am tired of being away from you! Oh! do not refuse, Marraine, to do as I ask——"
Barbara was kneeling by Madame Sampiero's couch, holding the stiff, trembling hands, gazing imploringly into the set face and the wide open eyes, now fixed on her with rather sad speculation and questioning.
"Why should I refuse? Have I not missed you? Ask McKirdy if we have not all missed you, child?"