"
A sigh, and they departed. The church was invisible, but up in
the darkness to the left there was a hint of colour. This was a
stained window, through which some feeble light was shining, and
when the door opened Lucy heard Mr. Beebe's voice running through
the litany to a minute congregation. Even their church, built
upon the slope of the hill so artfully, with its beautiful raised
transept and its spire of silvery shingle--even their church had
lost its charm; and the thing one never talked about--religion--
was fading like all the other things.
She followed the maid into the Rectory.
Would she object to sitting in Mr. Beebe's study? There was only
that one fire.
She would not object.
Some one was there already, for Lucy heard the words: "A lady to
wait, sir."
Old Mr. Emerson was sitting by the fire, with his foot upon a
gout-stool.
"Oh, Miss Honeychurch, that you should come!" he quavered; and
Lucy saw an alteration in him since last Sunday.
Not a word would come to her lips.
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