During the unexpected and solemn procession of the two up the aisle the soprano of the village choir stopped short in the middle of the Doxology, and the three other voices carried it to the end without any treble.  Also, among those present there were some who could not remember afterward the precise petitions wafted upward in the opening prayer.

And could it be explained otherwise than by cheerfully acknowledging the bounty of an overruling Providence that Nancy Wentworth should have had a new winter dress for the first time in five years—­a winter dress of dark brown cloth to match her beaver muff and victorine?  The existence of this toilette had been known and discussed in Edgewood for a month past, and it was thought to be nothing more than a proper token of respect from a member of the carpet committee to the general magnificence of the church on the occasion of its reopening after repairs.  Indeed, you could have identified every member of the Dorcas Society that Sunday morning by the freshness of her apparel.  The brown dress, then, was generally expected; but why the white cashmere waist with collar and cuffs of point lace, devised only and suitable only for the minister’s wedding, where it first saw the light?

“The white waist can only be explained as showing distinct hope!” whispered the minister’s wife during the reading of the church notices.

“To me it shows more than hope; I am very sure that Nancy would never take any wear out of that lace for hope; it means certainty!” answered Maria, who was always strong in the prophetic line.

By sermon time Justin’s identity had dawned upon most of the congregation.  A stranger to all but one or two at first, his presence in the Peabody pew brought his face and figure back, little by little, to the minds of the old parishioners.

When the contribution plate was passed, the sexton always began at the right-wing pews, as all the sextons before him had done for a hundred years.  Every eye in the church was already turned upon Justin and Nancy, and it was with almost a gasp that those in the vicinity saw a ten dollar bill fall in the plate.  The sexton reeled, or, if that is too intemperate a word for a pillar of the church, the good man tottered, but caught hold of the pew rail with one hand, and, putting the thumb of his other over the bill, proceeded quickly to the next pew, lest the stranger should think better of his gift, or demand change, as had occasionally been done in the olden time.

Nancy never fluttered an eyelash, but sat quietly by Justin’s side with her bosom rising and falling under the beaver fur and her cold hands clasped tight in the little brown muff.  Far from grudging this appreciable part of their slender resources, she thrilled with pride to see Justin’s offering fall in the plate.

Justin was too absorbed in his own thoughts to notice anything, but his munificent contribution had a most unexpected effect upon his reputation, after all; for on that day, and on many another later one, when his sudden marriage and departure with Nancy Wentworth were under discussion, the neighbours said to one another:—­