The congregation pitied Hetty.  She, with Molly to help, had been the parish alms-giver, here and at Epworth; and though the alms had been small, kind words had gone with the giving.  Of gratitude—­active gratitude—­they were by race incapable:  also they were shrewd enough to detect the Wesley habit of condescending to be kind.  She belonged to another world than theirs:  she was a lady, blood and bone.  But they were proud of her beauty, and talked of it, and forgave her for the sake of it.

They hated the Rector; yet with so much of fear as kept them huddled to-day at the west end under the dark gallery.  A space of empty pews divided them from Mrs. Wesley, standing solitary behind her daughter at the chancel step.

“O God, who hast consecrated the state of Matrimony to such an excellent mystery that in it is signified and represented the spiritual marriage and unity betwixt Christ and his Church:  look mercifully upon these thy servants. . . .”

A squall of rain burst upon the south windows, darkening the nave.  Mrs. Wesley started, and involuntarily her hands went up towards her ears.  Then she remembered, dropped them and stood listening with her arms rigid.

Under a penthouse in the parsonage yard, Molly and Johnny Whitelamb watched the downpour, and the cocks and hens dismally ruffling under shelter of the eaves.

“She was the best of us all, the bravest and the cleverest.”

“She was like no one in the world,” said Johnny.

“And the most loyal.  She loved me best, and I have done nothing for her.”

“You did what you could, Miss Molly.”

“If I were a man—­Oh, Johnny, of what use are my brothers to me?”

Johnny was silent.

“The others were jealous of her.  She could no more help excelling them in wit and spirits than she could in looks.  None of them understood her, but I only—­and you, I think, a little.”

“It was an honour to know her and serve her.  I shall never forget her, Miss Molly.”

“We will never forget her—­we two.  When the others are not listening we will talk about her together and say, She did this or that; or, Just so she looked; or, At such a time she was happy.  We will recollect her sayings and remind each other.  Oh, Hetty! dear, dear Hetty!”

Johnny was fairly blubbering.  “But she will visit us sometimes.  Lincoln is no great distance.”

Molly shook her head disconsolately.  “I do not think she will come.  Father will refuse to see her.  For my part, after the wickedness he has committed this day—­”

“Hush, Miss Molly!”

“Is it not wrong he is doing?  Is it not a wicked wrong?  Answer me, John Whitelamb, if we two are ever to speak of her again.”  She glanced at his face and read how terribly old fidelity and new distrust were tearing him between them.  “Ah, I understand!” she said, and laid a hand on his coat-sleeve.