It was five o'clock when Mr. Hewland came in, and up the stairs, and found them there. Aunt Blin had not awaked. There was a trace of morphine in her cough-drops, and Bel knew now, since she had slept so long, that she would doubtless sleep late into the morning. That was well. It would be time enough to tell her by and by. There would be all day,--all winter,--to tell it in. Mr. Hewland told them, hastily, the main history of the fire. "Is Trinity Church?"--asked poor Miss Smalley tremblingly. She had not said anything about it to Bel Bree; she could not think of that great stone tower as having let the fire in,--as not having stood, cool and strong, against any flame. And Trinity Church was _her_ tower. She had sat in one seat in its free gallery for fourteen years. If that were gone, she would hardly know where to go, to get near to heaven. Only nine days ago,--All Saints' Day,--she had sat there listening to beautiful words that laid hold upon the faith of all believers, back through the church, back before Christ to the prophets and patriarchs, and told how God was _her_ God because He had been theirs. The old faith,--and the Old Church! "Was Trinity?"--She could not say,--"burned." But Mr. Hewland answered in one word,--"Gone." That word answered so many questions on which life and love hung, that fearful night! Mr. Hewland was wet and cold. He went up to his room and changed his clothing. When the daylight, pale and scared, was creeping in, he came down again. "Would you not like to go down and see?" he said to Bel. "Can I?" "Yes. There is no danger. The streets are comparatively clear. I will go with you." Bel asked Miss Smalley. "Will you come? Auntie will be sure to sleep, I think." Miss Smalley had scarcely heart either to go or stay. Of the two, it was easier to go. To do--to see--something. Mr. Sparrow came in. He met them at the door, and turned directly back with them. He, too, was a free-seat worshipper at Old Trinity. He and the music-mistress--they were both of English birth, hence of the same national faith--had been used to go from the same dwelling, separately, to the same house of worship, and sit in opposite galleries. But their hearts had gone up together in the holy old words that their lips breathed in the murmur of the congregation. These links between them, of country and religion, which they had never spoken of, were the real links. As they went forth this Sunday morning, in company for the first time, toward the church in which they should never kneel again, they felt another,--the link that Eve and Adam felt when the sword of flame swept Paradise. Plain old souls!--Plain old bodies, I mean, hopping and "todillating"--as Bel expressed the little spinster's gait--along together; their souls walked in a sweet and gracious reality before the sight of God.