[A moment’s silence, and the voice speaks, uplifted, pronouncing the Blessing:  “The peace of God——­” As the last words die away, dark figures from the inn approach over the grass, till quite a crowd seems standing there without a word spoken.  Then from out of the church porch come the congregation.  Tim Clyst first, hastily lost among the waiting figures in the dark; old Mrs. Potter, a half blind old lady groping her way and perceiving nothing out of the ordinary; the two maids from the Hall, self-conscious and scared, scuttling along.  Last, ivy Burlacombe quickly, and starting back at the dim, half-hidden crowd.]

Voice of Gladys. [Whispering] Ivy!  Here, quick!

     [Ivy sways, darts off towards the voice, and is lost in the
     shadow.]

Voice of Freman. [Low] Wait, boys, till I give signal.

[Two or three squirks and giggles; Tim Clyst’s voice:  “Ya-as!  Don’t ’ee tread on my toe!” A soft, frightened “O-o-h!” from a girl.  Some quick, excited whisperings:  “Luke!” “Zee there!” “He’s comin’!” And then a perfectly dead silence.  The figure of Strangway is seen in his dark clothes, passing from the vestry to the church porch.  He stands plainly visible in the lighted porch, locking the door, then steps forward.  Just as he reaches the edge of the porch, a low hiss breaks the silence.  It swells very gradually into a long, hissing groan.  Strangway stands motionless, his hand over his eyes, staring into the darkness.  A girl’s figure can be seen to break out of the darkness and rush away.  When at last the groaning has died into sheer expectancy, Strangway drops his hand.]

Strangway. [In a loco voice] Yes!  I’m glad.  Is Jarland there?

Freman.  He’s ’ere-no thanks to yu!  Hsss!

     [The hiss breaks out again, then dies away.]

Jarland’s voice. [Threatening] Try if yu can du it again.

Strangway.  No, Jarland, no!  I ask you to forgive me.  Humbly!

     [A hesitating silence, broken by muttering.]

Clyst’s voice.  Bravo!

A voice.  That’s vair.

A voice.  ‘E’s afraid o’ the sack—­that’s what ’tis.

A voice. [Groaning] ’E’s a praaper coward.

A voice.  Whu funked the doctor?

Clyst’s voice.  Shame on ’ee, therr!

Strangway.  You’re right—­all of you!  I’m not fit!  An uneasy and excited mustering and whispering dies away into renewed silence.

Strangway.  What I did to Tam Jarland is not the real cause of what you’re doing, is it?  I understand.  But don’t be troubled.  It’s all over.  I’m going—­you’ll get some one better.  Forgive me, Jarland.  I can’t see your face—­it’s very dark.