Dorothea did at last appear on this quaint background, walking up the short aisle in her white beaver bonnet and gray cloak—­the same she had worn in the Vatican.  Her face being, from her entrance, towards the chancel, even her shortsighted eyes soon discerned Will, but there was no outward show of her feeling except a slight paleness and a grave bow as she passed him.  To his own surprise Will felt suddenly uncomfortable, and dared not look at her after they had bowed to each other.  Two minutes later, when Mr. Casaubon came out of the vestry, and, entering the pew, seated himself in face of Dorothea, Will felt his paralysis more complete.  He could look nowhere except at the choir in the little gallery over the vestry-door:  Dorothea was perhaps pained, and he had made a wretched blunder.  It was no longer amusing to vex Mr. Casaubon, who had the advantage probably of watching him and seeing that he dared not turn his head.  Why had he not imagined this beforehand?—­ but he could not expect that he should sit in that square pew alone, unrelieved by any Tuckers, who had apparently departed from Lowick altogether, for a new clergyman was in the desk.  Still he called himself stupid now for not foreseeing that it would be impossible for him to look towards Dorothea—­nay, that she might feel his coming an impertinence.  There was no delivering himself from his cage, however; and Will found his places and looked at his book as if he had been a school-mistress, feeling that the morning service had never been so immeasurably long before, that he was utterly ridiculous, out of temper, and miserable.  This was what a man got by worshipping the sight of a woman!  The clerk observed with surprise that Mr. Ladislaw did not join in the tune of Hanover, and reflected that he might have a cold.

Mr. Casaubon did not preach that morning, and there was no change in Will’s situation until the blessing had been pronounced and every one rose.  It was the fashion at Lowick for “the betters” to go out first.  With a sudden determination to break the spell that was upon him, Will looked straight at Mr. Casaubon.  But that gentleman’s eyes were on the button of the pew-door, which he opened, allowing Dorothea to pass, and following her immediately without raising his eyelids.  Will’s glance had caught Dorothea’s as she turned out of the pew, and again she bowed, but this time with a look of agitation, as if she were repressing tears.  Will walked out after them, but they went on towards the little gate leading out of the churchyard into the shrubbery, never looking round.

It was impossible for him to follow them, and he could only walk back sadly at mid-day along the same road which he had trodden hopefully in the morning.  The lights were all changed for him both without and within.

CHAPTER XLVIII

    Surely the golden hours are turning gray
    And dance no more, and vainly strive to run: 
    I see their white locks streaming in the wind—­
    Each face is haggard as it looks at me,
    Slow turning in the constant clasping round
    Storm-driven.