“Phil—Phil,” she whispered. “How little you understand. My dear—my dear.” Then raising her eyes away from him and staring again in front of her, she said: “But I want to know, Phil. I _must_ know. What was she like?” “Like?” he repeated, puzzled. “Yes. Her appearance, her clothes, her hair, _everything_. I want to be able to see her—with my own eyes—as though she were here....” He stared at her for a moment—then, very slowly, almost reluctantly, he began his description.... CHAPTER VI SUNDAY On no day of the year—spring, summer, autumn, or winter, did any inhabitant of Garth House rise before Rebekah. Grimly complete, starch and stiff and taciturn, she would be about the dim house, feeling nothing of the cold blackness of a winter morning, finding apparently no pleasure in the beauty of a summer dawn. Her business was with the House—human beings (yes, Trenchards as well as the rest) she despised—for Houses she could feel reverence ... they were stronger than she. Upon the Sunday morning that followed the “Feast” at Rafiel, very early indeed, she was moving about the passages. Looking out on to the lawn and bushes, wet with mist, she knew that it would be a bad day.... Weather mattered to her nothing: people (although the Trenchards might think otherwise) mattered to her nothing. Her business was with the House.... * * * * * That Sunday began badly for Aunt Aggie—and, therefore, for everyone else. Before she woke—in the dusty labyrinth of her half-waking dreams—she knew that her tooth was aching. In her dreams this tooth was of an enormous size, holding, although it was in form and figure a veritable tooth, a huge hammer that it brought down, with a regular beat, upon Aunt Aggie’s jaw. She screamed, struggled, fought, awoke—to find that the tooth had receded to its proper place and size, was still faintly beating, but not aching—only threatening. This threat was, in its way, more terrible than a savage ache. When would the ache begin? Ah, here it was!... no, only the throb.... Would hot or cold food irritate it? Would the wind?... She got out of bed and drew her blind. Her clock told her that the hour was seven. Why had Annie not called her? Annie had overslept herself—what was it to Annie if Aunt Aggie were late for Early Service? But it must be something to Annie. Annie _must_ be warned. Annie ... Aunt Aggie was conscious that she had a headache, that the weather was abominable, and that crossing through the wood to the church would certainly start the tooth. But she was resolved. Very grimly, her mouth tightly closed, her heart beating because she was expecting that, at every moment, that tooth.... Aunt Aggie had her bath, dressed, informed Annie, who came, very greatly agitated, at half-past seven, that this would not be the last she heard of it, walked off to church. During the singing of the collection hymn