The next morning, which was Sunday, dawned clear and bright. The rain was over, and at the usual hour the Rothsayites betook themselves to their accustomed place of worship. Trinity church was full that morning, for though the people hardly expected Mrs. J. E. Forrest herself, they did expect Mrs. Markham, and hoped to hear something more from her. But Mrs. Markham was not there, and the large, square pew which the Forrests had occupied for many years, and which was far up the middle aisle, was empty until the reading of the Psalms commenced, when there was heard outside the sound of rapidly approaching wheels, which stopped before the door, and a moment after there entered a graceful figure clothed in black, with the prettiest little Paris bonnet perched on the golden hair, the long crape vail thrown back, disclosing the fair, blonde face, which was a little flushed, while the blue eyes had in them a timid, bashful expression as they glanced quickly round in quest of the sexton, who, having fulfilled his duties at the bell, had gone to the organ loft, for he was blower as well as bell-ringer, and left to others the task of seating strangers. But Josey did not have to wait long, for four men,—two young, one middle-aged, and one white-haired and old,—simultaneously left their pews and made a movement toward her, the youngest reaching her first and asking if she would have a seat. “Yes, thank you. Please show me Judge Forrest’s pew,” was the reply, and every head was turned as her long skirts went trailing up the aisle, and the air was filled with the costly and delicate perfume she carried with her, and which was fresh from Pinaud’s. What a long time she remained upon her knees, and how devout she was after she had arisen, and how clearly and sweetly she sang the “Gloria,” and how wonderfully her overskirt was looped, and how jauntily her jacket fitted her, with such a pretty stand-up collar, and how white her neck was above it, and how beautiful the wavy hair under the lovely bonnet. All these details, and more, were noted by every woman in church who could get a view of her, while even the clergyman, good and conscientious man as he was, found it difficult to keep his eyes from straying too often to that crimson-cushioned pew and the black-robed figure whose responses were so audible and clear, and who seemed the very incarnation of piety and innocence. He had heard of Mrs. J. E. Forrest, and he guessed who the stranger was, and when service was over he came down to speak to her. Mrs. Rider, however, was there before him, and was shaking hands with the lady, whom she presented to the rector, and to his wife, and to several others who sat near, and who involuntarily moved in that direction.