“And the Rood!” she said. “Even Christ crucified is gone. Then, in God’s name what is left?” And her eyes turned fiercely for a moment on the Rector.
“At least courtesy and Christian kindness is left, madam,” he said sternly.
She dropped her eyes and went out; and Isabel and Anthony followed, startled and ashamed. But Mary had recovered herself as she came on to the head of the stone stairs, beside which the stump of the churchyard cross stood; standing there was the same tall, slender woman whose back they had seen through the window, and who now stood eyeing Mary with half-dropped lids. Her face was very white, with hard lines from nose to mouth, and thin, tightly compressed lips. Mary swept her with one look, and then passed on and down the steps, followed by Isabel and Anthony, as the Rector came out, locking the church door again behind him.
As they went up the green, a shrill thin voice began to scold from over the churchyard wall, and they heard the lower, determined voice of the minister answering.
“They are at it again,” said Anthony, once more.
“And what do you mean by that, Master Anthony?” said Mistress Corbet, who seemed herself again now.
“She is just a scold,” said the lad, “the village-folk hate her.”
“You seem not to love her,” said Mary, smiling.
“Oh! Mistress Corbet, do you know what she said—” and then he broke off, crimson-faced.
“She is no friend to Catholics, I suppose,” said Mary, seeming to notice nothing.