“Good God!” said Rowcliffe to himself.  “That explains it.”

He got up softly.  Now that he knew, he felt that it was horrible to spy on her.

But Greatorex had begun singing again, and the sheer beauty of the voice held Rowcliffe there to listen.

  “‘Lead—­Kindly Light—­amidst th’ encircling gloo-oom,
    Lead Thou me o-on. 
  Keep—­Thou—­my—­feet—­I do not aa-aassk too-oo see-ee-ee
    Ther di-is-ta-aant scene, woon step enoo-oof for mee-eea.’”

Greatorex was singing like an angel.  And as he sang it was as if two passions, two longings, the earthly and the heavenly, met and mingled in him, so that through all its emotion his face remained incongruously mystic, queerly visionary.

  “‘O’er moor and fen—­o’er crag and torrent ti-ill——­’”

The evocation was intolerable to Rowcliffe.

He turned away and Greatorex’s voice went after him.

  “’And—­with—­the—­morn tho-ose angel fa-a-ce-es smile
  Which I-i—­a-ave looved—­long since—­and lo-ost awhi-ile.’”

Again Rowcliffe turned; but not before he had seen that Greatorex had his hand on Alice’s shoulder a second time, and that Alice’s hand had gone up and found it there.

The latch of the west door jerked under Rowcliffe’s hand with a loud clashing.  Alice and Greatorex looked round and saw him as he went out.

Alice got up in terror.  The two stood apart on either side of the organ bench, staring into each other’s faces.

Then Alice went round to the back of the organ and addressed the small organ-blower.

“Go,” she said, “and tell the choir we’re waiting for them.  It’s five minutes past time.”

Johnny ran.

Alice went back to the chancel where Greatorex stood turning over the hymn books of the choir.

“Jim,” she said, “that was Dr. Rowcliffe.  Do you think he saw us?”

“It doesn’t matter if he did,” said Greatorex.  “He’ll not tell.”

“He might tell Father.”

Jim turned to her.

“And if he doos, Ally, yo’ knaw what to saay.”

“That’s no good, Jim.  I’ve told you so.  You mustn’t think of it.”

“I shall think of it.  I shall think of noothing else,” said Greatorex.

* * * * *

The choir came in, aggrieved, and explaining that it wasn’t six yet, not by the church clock.

XLIII

As Rowcliffe went back to his surgery he recalled two things he had forgotten.  One was a little gray figure he had seen once or twice lately wandering through the fields about Upthorne Farm.  The other was a certain interview he had had with Alice when she had come to ask him to get Greatorex to sing.  That was in November, not long before the concert.  He remembered the suggestion he had then made that Alice should turn her attention to reclaiming Greatorex.  And, though he had no morbid sense of responsibility in the matter, it struck him with something like compunction that he had put Greatorex into Alice’s head chiefly to distract her from throwing herself at his.