His
little son followed him into the vestry to wait until the congregation,
that loved to linger a little about the porch, should have dispersed.
But hardly had he entered, than, looking out, as it was his wont to do,
upon the grave of his other child, he saw a figure stretched across it,
asleep. Could it possibly be his wife? Large drops of rain were
beginning to fall upon her upturned face, but they did not rouse her
from her heavy slumber; nor did the noise of many feet passing by along
the churchyard path. It was a moment of unutterable shame and agony to
him. His people saw her; they had heard of his trouble before, but now
they saw it; and they were lingering to look at her. He must go out in
the midst of them all, and they must see him take his miserable wife
home.
Those who were there that day will never forget the sight. His people
made way for him, as he passed among them, still in the gown he had worn
while preaching, with a rigid and wan face, and eyes that seemed blind
to every object except the unhappy woman he could not save. His little
boy was pressing close behind him, but he bade him go back into the
church, and wait until he came for him.
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