“I have been in Wales, sir,” she replied, in a calm, grave tone.  “I was there many years ago.  Events took place there which contribute to make the recollections of that time most miserable to me.  I shall be obliged to you, sir, if you will make no further reference to it.”

The little girls wondered how Mrs. Denbigh could speak in such a high tone of quiet authority to Mr. Donne, who was almost a member of Parliament.  But they settled that her husband must have died in Wales, and, of course, that would make the recollection of the country “most miserable,” as she said.

Mr. Donne did not dislike the answer, and he positively admired the dignity with which she spoke.  His leaving her as he did must have made her very miserable; and he liked the pride that made her retain her indignation, until he could speak to her in private, and explain away a good deal of what she might complain of with some justice.

The church was reached.  They all went up the middle aisle into the Eagle’s Crag pew.  He followed them in, entered himself, and shut the door.  Ruth’s heart sank as she saw him there; just opposite to her; coming between her and the clergyman who was to read out the word of God.  It was merciless—­it was cruel to haunt her there.  She durst not lift her eyes to the bright eastern light—­she could not see how peacefully the marble images of the dead lay on their tombs, for he was between her and all Light and Peace.  She knew that his look was on her; that he never turned his glance away.  She could not join in the prayer for the remission of sins while he was there, for his very presence seemed as a sign that their stain would never be washed out of her life.  But, although goaded and chafed by her thoughts and recollections, she kept very still.  No sign of emotion, no flush of colour was on her face as he looked at her.  Elizabeth could not find her place, and then Ruth breathed once, long and deeply, as she moved up the pew, and out of the straight, burning glance of those eyes of evil meaning.  When they sat down for the reading of the first lesson, Ruth turned the corner of the seat so as no longer to be opposite to him.  She could not listen.  The words seemed to be uttered in some world far away, from which she was exiled and cast out their sound, and yet more their meaning, was dim and distant.  But in this extreme tension of mind to hold in her bewildered agony, it so happened that one of her senses was preternaturally acute.  While all the church and the people swam in misty haze, one point in a dark corner grew clearer and clearer till she saw (what at another time she could not have discerned at all) a face—­a gargoyle I think they call it—­at the end of the arch next to the narrowing of the nave into the chancel, and in the shadow of that contraction.  The face was beautiful in feature (the next to it was a grinning monkey), but it was not the features that were the most striking part.  There was a half-open mouth, not in any way distorted