“I cannot countenance such immorality,” he said, addressing the verger, though his words were heard by all present, “Enough of the service has been said!  Lower the coffins into the earth!” and turning on his heel he prepared to walk away.  But Aubrey Leigh stopped him.

“You will not finish the service, sir?” he asked civilly, but with something of a warning in the flash of his eyes.

“No!  The principal part of it is over.  I cannot go on.  These women are drunk!”

“They are not drunk, save with their own tears!” said Aubrey, his rich voice trembling with indignation.  “They are not mad, except with grief!  Is it not your place to be patient with them?”

“My place!  My place!” echoed the curate indignantly, “Man, do you know to whom you are talking?”

“I think I do,” answered Aubrey steadily, “I am talking to a professed servant of Christ,—­Christ who had patience and pardon for all men!  I am talking to one whose calling and vocation it is to love, to forgive, and to forbear—­whose absolute protestation has been made at the altar of God that he will faithfully obey his Master.  Even if these unhappy women were drunk, which they are not, their fault in conduct would not release you from the performance of your duty,—­or the reverence you are bound to show towards the dead!”

Trembling with rage, the curate eyed him up and down scornfully.

“How dare you speak to me about my duty!  You common lout!  Mind your own business!”

“I will,” said Aubrey, fixing his eyes full upon him, “And it shall be my business to see that you mind yours!  Both your rector and bishop shall hear of this!”

He strode off, leaving the curate speechless with fury; and joining the little crowd of mourners who had been startled and interrupted by this unexpected scene, drew a prayer book from his pocket, and without asking anyone’s permission read with exquisite gravity and pathos the concluding words of the funeral service,—­and then with his own hands assisted the grave-diggers to lay the coffined dead tenderly to rest.  Awestruck, and deeply impressed by his manner the fisher-folk mechanically obeyed his instructions, and followed his movements till all the sad business was over, and then they lingered about the churchyard wistfully watching him, while he in turn, standing erect and bare-headed near the open graves, looked at them with a strange pity, love and yearning.

“It’ll be all right when our owld passon comes back,” said one of the men addressing him, “It’s just this half eddicated wastrel of a chap as doesn’t know, and doesn’t care for the troubles of common folk like we.”

Aubrey was silent for a space.  “Common folk like we!” The words were full of pathetic humility, and the man who spoke them was a hero of no mean type, who had often buffeted the winds and waves to save a human life at the risk of his own.  “Common folk like we!” Aubrey laid his hand gently on his “mate’s” shoulder.