At this Betty started to her feet.
“Eira,” she said, “you are very, very unkind, and—Mr Ferraby, you don’t know how she tries to frighten me sometimes, though I dare say I’m very silly.”
The others could scarcely help laughing at her pitiful tone, though Frances’ ears detected that very little more would bring tears.
“Let us go,” she said; “it is getting chilly, and mamma will be expecting us.”
Betty caught hold of her arm.
“I dare not walk down the aisle alone,” she whispered, “especially with Eira behind us.”
“Eira,” said Frances, “are you coming, or will you follow with Mr Ferraby?”
“I must be off too,” said the vicar. “I am eager to tell my wife of Miss Betty’s successful search.”
So the quartette, Eira bringing up the rear, made their way to the door.
“I wish,” thought she, “I could do some little thing to frighten Betty. I know what—I will stretch out my umbrella and touch her neck with the cold end,” for there was still light enough for this piece of mischief; and she was leaning forward to put it into execution when a slight sound in the pew they had just quitted arrested her. It was that of stiffly rustling garments, as of a person clad therein rising with difficulty from a kneeling posture.