Yet, although all this had taken place, it was only a short time before the energy of a few, acting upon the paralysed will of others, had cleared the ground.  The white-dressed women crossed the open to the descending path, huddling together as they walked, their eyes perforce upon the rough ground over which they must pick their steps.  There was many a rift now in the breaking clouds above them, but only a few turned an upward passionate glance.  Sophia moved away in their midst.  Seeing her thus surrounded, Alec did not feel that he need approach.

“I don’t know who she is,” he said, pointing her out to Robert.  “I happened, in a queer way, to come up here with her.”  He paused a moment.  Some sentiment such as that she was a queen among women was in his mind, but it did not rise to his lips.  “She would like your help better than mine,” he added.  “If you will see that she and her little sister are taken care of, I will stay here”—­he gave a gesture toward the corpse—­“till a stretcher comes.”

“I will do my best to take care of them all,” Robert Trenholme answered with a sigh.

Old McNider and his little boy walked behind the women.  Robert, limping as he went, lifted the sleepy child in his arms and joined himself to the company.  They went under the dripping trees, down, down the dark, slippery path.  The white robes hardly glimmered in the darkness.  Some of the women wept; some of them held religious conversation, using such forms of expression as grow up among certain classes of pious, people and jar terribly on unaccustomed ears.  Those who talked at this time had less depth of character than those who were silent, and there was evinced in their conversation a certain pride of resistance to criticism—­that is, they wished to show that if what they had looked for had not come that night, their expectation of it bad been reasonable, and that their greatest hopes would shortly be realised to the confounding of unbelievers.  They did not know the manner of their spirit.  Few who indulge in demonstration of piety as a relief to feeling ever perceive how easily the natural passions can flow into this channel.

Jesus wished to try their faith, said they, but they would not cast away their lamps; no, they must keep them trimmed and burning.  They could not live unless they felt that dear Jesus might come for them any night.

“Blessed be His holy Name!” cried one.  “When He comes the world will see Him Whom they have despised, and His saints they have looked down on, too, reignin’ together in glory.  Yes, glory be to Jesus, there’ll be a turnin’ of the tables soon.”

To Trenholme it seemed that they bandied about the sacred name.  He winced each time.