They drew up sharply, the glass of the windows rattled, and the talk that had been going on in the carriage ceased. “Here we are,” cried Cæsar; there were voices outside, and then the others inside stepped down. She saw a hand held out to her and knew whose it was before her eyes had risen to the face. Philip was there. He was helping her to alight.
“Am I to get down too?” she asked in a helpless way.
Cæsar said something that made the people laugh again, and then she smiled like faded sunshine and took the hand of Philip. She held it a moment as if expecting him to say something, but he only raised his hat. His face was white as marble. He will speak yet, she thought.
Over the gateway to the churchyard there was an arch of flowers and evergreens, with an inscription in coloured letters: “God bless the happy pair.” The sloping path going down as to a dell was strewn with gilvers and slips of fuchsia.
At the bottom stood the old church mantled in ivy, like a rock of the sea covered by green moss.
Leaning on her father's arm she walked in at the porch. The church was full of people. As they passed under the gallery there was a twittering as of birds. The Sunday-school girls were up there, looking down and talking eagerly. Then the coughing and hemming ceased; there was a sort of deep inspiration; the church seemed to hold its breath for a moment. After that there were broken exclamations, and the coughing and hemming began again. “How pale!”—“Not fit, poor thing.” Everybody was pitying her starved features.
“Stand here,” said somebody in a soft voice.
“Must I?” she said quite loudly.
All at once she was aware that she was alone before the communion rail, with the parson—old ruddy-faced Parson Quiggin—in his white surplice facing her. Some one came and stood beside her. It was Pete. She did not look at him, but she felt his warm presence again, and was relieved. It was like shelter from the eyes around. After a moment she turned about Philip was one step behind Pete. His head was bent.
Then the service began. The voice of the parson muttered words in a low voice, but she did not listen. She found herself trying to spell out the Manx text printed over the chancel arch: “Bannet T'eshyn Ta Cheet ayns Ennyn y Chearn” (“Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord”).