tured her attention and interest; he had not thought
Lettice so impressionable.

It was, he remembered, Wednesday night -- there
would be prayer-meeting in the Methodist Church;
the Hollidews were Methodists; women, mostly, attended
prayer-meeting. If he strolled about in that
vicinity he might see Lettice at the close of the service,
thank her for attending poor Clare's funeral.

He rose and negligently made his way through
the soft gloom past the Courthouse to the Methodist
Church. The double doors were open, and a flood
of hot radiance rolled out into the night, together
with the familiar tones of old Martin Seeker loudly
importuning his invisible, inscrutable Maker.
There were no houses opposite the church, and, balanced
obscurely on the fence of split rails against
the unrelieved night, a row of young men smoked
redly glowing cigarettes; while, on the ground below
them, shone the lanterns by the aid of which
they escorted the various maidens of their choice on
their various obscure ways.

The prayer stopped abruptly, and, after a momentary
silence, the dolorous wail of a small organ abetted
a stridulent concourse of human voices lifted in
lamentable song, a song in which they were desirous
of being winged like the dove.

The sound mounted in a grievous minor into the
profound stillness, the peace, of the valley, of the

[[93]]

p092 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p093w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p094

v?