"Take her away, I tell you," and he advanced a step or two, "I cannot permit such a scandalous interruption of this service!"
"Patience, patience, measter," said one of the men standing by, "When a woman's heart's broke in two ways it ain't no use worrying her. She'll come right of herself in a minute."
But the curate, never famous for forbearance at any time, was not to be tampered with. Turning to his verger he said,
"I refuse to go on! The woman is drunk!"
But now the widow of the dead man suddenly took up the argument in a shrill voice which almost tore the air to shreds.
"She's no more drunk than you are!" she cried passionately, "Leave her alone! You're a nice sort of God's serving man to comfort we, when we're all nigh on losing our wits over this mornin' o' misery, shame on ye! Mary Bell, come here! If so be as my husband was your sweetheart, God forgive him, ye shall come home wi' me!—and we'll never have a word agin the man who is lying dead there. Come wi' me, Mary!"
With a wild cry of anguish, the girl rushed into her arms, and the two women clung together like sisters united in the same passionate grief. The curate turned a livid white.
"I cannot countenance such immorality," he said, addressing the verger, though his words were heard by all present, "Enough of the service has been said! Lower the coffins into the earth!" and turning on his heel he prepared to walk away. But Aubrey Leigh stopped him.
"You will not finish the service, sir?" he asked civilly, but with something of a warning in the flash of his eyes.
"No! The principal part of it is over. I cannot go on. These women are drunk!"