Part 7 (2/2)
Toward the end he said: ”Are you going to chapel to-night?”
Her bosom heaved; she cleared her throat: she had to meet Frankl by the towing-path.
”I don't think I shall...”
_Margaret!_
”Why not?”
”I have something to do”.
”_What?_”
Silence.
”_What?_”
”Something”--with a stubborn nod, and pallor--”if I tell you _something_ that should be enough”.
”You will go to chapel to-night”.
”That I shan't”.
”Yes”
Silence.
A little before seven they left the cottage together for the chapel, Hogarth taking his hunting-crop--from habit; he had also a little Bible; in his jacket, tight at the slight waist, unb.u.t.toned at the breast, lay the anonymous letter, and a little poetry-book, neither moon nor star lighting the night, bleak winds swooping like the typhoon among the year's dead leaves.
The chapel was a paltry place, though in the wall to the right of the preacher was a slab bearing the inscription:
ON THIS STONE JOHN WESLEY PREACHED IN THE VILLAGE, ON THE 9TH JULY 1768
And they sang a hymn; Hogarth ”prayed”; read a chapter; once more the harmonium mourned; Hogarth gave the text: ”G.o.d's way is in the sea...”
Even as he uttered it, he happened to glance toward the ”mission-pew”--a square pew rather behind the pulpit: Margaret no longer there.
A paleness as of very death--then a dreadful wrath reddened his dark face.
He seized his hunting-crop; and, without a word, sped bent and thievish down the steps--and was gone.
Upon which Loveday in a middle pew, perceiving here something sinister, like a still wind flew to a back door, before ever the amazement of the people had given place to a flutter like leaf.a.ge; and running fast, he came up with Hogarth by a stile twenty yards behind the chapel, touched his shoulder.
”To the devil with you...!” shouted Hogarth, running still, and there Loveday stood.
Margaret, meantime, was hurrying toward the towing-path, while Richard, in a direction at right angles to hers, was pelting toward that spot terrible to him--the elm.
At the moment when he entered the deep darkness of the beeches, he heard what sounded like a pistol-shot, rain now falling drop by drop, and through the forest with an uplifting whoop, like batsmen, swooped the tomboy winds.
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