"Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Mrs. Wheatfield! If I can only get safe home!"
"Come, don't be in haste. You'll take a bit of bread and cheese, and just a draught of ale to hearten you up a bit."
Aurelia was too sick at heart for food, and feared to delay, lest she should meet the congregation, but Mrs. Wheatfield forced on her a little basket with some provisions, and she gladly accepted another draught of milk.
No one came out by the little door she was told; all she had to do would be to keep out of sight when the ringers came in before the afternoon service. She knew the way, and was soon close to Mary Sedhurst's grave. "Ah! why was he not constant to her," she thought; "and oh! why has he deserted me in my need?"
The little door easily yielded, and she found herself--after passing the staircase-turret that led by a gallery to the belfry in the centre of the church--in an exceedingly dilapidated transept; once, no doubt, it had been beautiful, before the coloured glass of the floriated window had been knocked out and its place supplied with bricks. The broken effigy of a crusading Sedhurst, devoid of arms, feet, and nose was stowed away in the eastern sepulchre, in company with funeral apparatus, torn books, and moth-eaten cushions. But this would not have shocked her even in calmer moments. She only cared to find a corner where she was entirely sheltered, between a green stained pier and the high wall and curtain of a gigantic pew, where no doubt sweet Mary Sedhurst had once worshipped. The lusty voices of the village choir in some exalted gallery beyond her view were shouting out a familiar tune, and with some of Betty's mild superstition about "the singing psalms," she heard-"Since I have placed my trust in God A refuge always nigh, Why should I, like tim'rous bird To distant mountains fly?
"Behold the wicked bend their bow, And ready fix their dart, Lurking in ambush to destroy The man of upright heart.
"When once the firm assurance fails Which public faith imparts, 'Tis time for innocence to flee From such deceitful arts.
"The Lord hath both a temple here And righteous throne above, Whence He surveys the sons of men, And how their counsels move."
Poor timorous bird, whom even the firm assurance of wedded faith had failed, what was left to her but to flee from the darts levelled against her? Yet that last verse brought a sense of protection. Ah! did she deserve it? A prayerless night and prayerless morning had been hers, and no wonder, since she had never gone to bed nor risen with the ordinary forms; but it was with a pang that she recollected that the habit of calling out in her heart for guidance and help had been slipping from her for a long time past, and she had never asked for heavenly aid when her judgment was perplexed by Harriet, no, nor for protection in her flight.