“Is this because she fancies I know of her having made a bet of me?” thought Robert, and it was not his vanity prompted the supposition, though his vanity was awakened by it.  “Or is she ashamed of her falsehood?” he thought again, and forgave her at the sight of her sweet pale face.  The singing of the hymns made her evident suffering seem holy as a martyr’s.  He scarce had the power to conduct himself reverently, so intense was his longing to show her his sympathy.

“That is Mrs. Lovell—­did you see her just now?” he whispered.

“Ah?” said Major Waring.

“I’m afraid she has fainted.”

“Possibly.”

But Mrs. Lovell had not fainted.  She rose when the time for rising came again, and fixing her eyes with a grave devotional collectedness upon the vicar at his reading-desk, looked quite mistress of herself—­but mistress of herself only when she kept them so fixed.  When they moved, it was as if they had relinquished some pillar of support, and they wavered; livid shades chased her face, like the rain-clouds on a grey lake-water.  Some one fronting her weighed on her eyelids.  This was evident.  Robert thought her a miracle of beauty.  She was in colour like days he had noted thoughtfully:  days with purple storm, and with golden horizon edges.  She had on a bonnet of black velvet, with a delicate array of white lace, that was not suffered to disturb the contrast to her warm yellow hair.  Her little gloved hands were both holding the book; at times she perused it, or, the oppression becoming unendurable, turned her gaze toward the corner of the chancel, and thence once more to her book.  Robert rejected all idea of his being in any way the cause of her strange perturbation.  He cast a glance at his friend.  He had begun to nourish a slight suspicion; but it was too slight to bear up against Percy’s self-possession; for, as he understood the story, Percy had been the sufferer, and the lady had escaped without a wound.  How, then, if such were the case, would she be showing emotion thus deep, while he stood before her with perfect self-command?

Robert believed that if he might look upon that adorable face for many days together, he could thrust Rhoda’s from his memory.  The sermon was not long enough for him; and he was angry with Percy for rising before there was any movement for departure in the Fairly pew.  In the doorway of the church Percy took his arm, and asked him to point out the family tombstone.  They stood by it, when Lady Elling and Mrs. Lovell came forth and walked to the carriage, receiving respectful salutes from the people of Warbeach.

“How lovely she is!” said Robert.

“Do you think her handsome?” said Major Waring.

“I can’t understand such a creature dying.”  Robert stepped over an open grave.

The expression of Percy’s eyes was bitter.

“I should imagine she thinks it just as impossible.”

The Warbeach villagers waited for Lady Elling’s carriage to roll away, and with a last glance at Robert, they too went off in gossiping groups.  Robert’s penance was over, and he could not refrain from asking what good his coming to church had done.