Just before eleven o’clock on Sunday he set out upon his sad errand.  The funeral was to be immediately after the morning service, and as there were four good miles to walk, driving being inconvenient, it became necessary to start comparatively early.  Half an hour later would certainly have answered his purpose quite as well, yet at the last moment nothing would content his ardent mind but that he must go a mile out of his way in the direction of the school, in the hope of getting a glimpse of his Love as she started for church.

Striking, therefore, into the lane towards the school, instead of across the ewelease direct to Charmley, he arrived opposite her door as his goddess emerged.

If ever a woman looked a divinity, Fancy Day appeared one that morning as she floated down those school steps, in the form of a nebulous collection of colours inclining to blue.  With an audacity unparalleled in the whole history of village-school-mistresses at this date—­partly owing, no doubt, to papa’s respectable accumulation of cash, which rendered her profession not altogether one of necessity—­she had actually donned a hat and feather, and lowered her hitherto plainly looped-up hair, which now fell about her shoulders in a profusion of curls.  Poor Dick was astonished:  he had never seen her look so distractingly beautiful before, save on Christmas-eve, when her hair was in the same luxuriant condition of freedom.  But his first burst of delighted surprise was followed by less comfortable feelings, as soon as his brain recovered its power to think.

Fancy had blushed;—­was it with confusion?  She had also involuntarily pressed back her curls.  She had not expected him.

“Fancy, you didn’t know me for a moment in my funeral clothes, did you?”

“Good-morning, Dick—­no, really, I didn’t know you for an instant in such a sad suit.”

He looked again at the gay tresses and hat.  “You’ve never dressed so charming before, dearest.”

“I like to hear you praise me in that way, Dick,” she said, smiling archly.  “It is meat and drink to a woman.  Do I look nice really?”

“Fie! you know it.  Did you remember,—­I mean didn’t you remember about my going away to-day?”

“Well, yes, I did, Dick; but, you know, I wanted to look well;—­forgive me.”

“Yes, darling; yes, of course,—­there’s nothing to forgive.  No, I was only thinking that when we talked on Tuesday and Wednesday and Thursday and Friday about my absence to-day, and I was so sorry for it, you said, Fancy, so were you sorry, and almost cried, and said it would be no pleasure to you to be the attraction of the church to-day, since I could not be there.”

“My dear one, neither will it be so much pleasure to me . . .  But I do take a little delight in my life, I suppose,” she pouted.

“Apart from mine?”

She looked at him with perplexed eyes.  “I know you are vexed with me, Dick, and it is because the first Sunday I have curls and a hat and feather since I have been here happens to be the very day you are away and won’t be with me.  Yes, say it is, for that is it!  And you think that all this week I ought to have remembered you wouldn’t be here to-day, and not have cared to be better dressed than usual.  Yes, you do, Dick, and it is rather unkind!”