Christian fiction; Neighborhoods -- Scotland -- Fiction
They assented kindly. I walked first with one, then with another; heard a
little of the story of each; was able to say a few words of sympathy, and
point, as it were, a few times towards the hills whence cometh our aid. I
may just mention here, that since our return to Marshmallows I have had two
of them, the young woman and the Scotchman, to visit us there.
The bell began to toll, and we went to church. My companions placed
themselves near the dead. I went into the vestry till the appointed hour.
I thought as I put on my surplice how, in all religions but the Christian,
the dead body was a pollution to the temple. Here the church received it,
as a holy thing, for a last embrace ere it went to the earth.
As the dead were already in the church, the usual form could not be carried
out. I therefore stood by the communion-table, and there began to read, "I
am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me,
though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth
in me shall never die."
I advanced, as I read, till I came outside the rails and stood before the
dead. There I read the Psalm, "Lord, thou hast been our refuge," and
the glorious lesson, "Now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the
first-fruits of them that slept." Then the men of the neighbourhood came
forward, and in long solemn procession bore the bodies out of the church,
each to its grave. At the church-door I stood and read, "Man that is born
of a woman;" then went from one to another of the graves, and read over
each, as the earth fell on the coffin-lid, "Forasmuch as it hath pleased
Almighty God, of his great mercy." Then again, I went back to the
church-door and read, "I heard a voice from heaven;" and so to the end of
the service.
Leaving the men to fill up the graves, I hastened to lay aside my
canonicals, that I might join my guests; but my wife and daughter had
already prevailed on them to leave the churchyard.
A word now concerning my own family. Turner insisted on Connie's remaining
in bed for two or three days. She looked worse in face--pale and worn; but
it was clear, from the way she moved in bed, that the fresh power called
forth by the shock had not vanished with the moment.
Wynnie was quieter almost than ever; but there was a constant _secret_
light, if I may use the paradox, in her eyes. Percivale was at the
house every day, always ready to make himself useful. My wife bore up
wonderfully. As yet the much greater catastrophe had come far short of the
impression made by the less. When quieter hours should come, however, I
could not help fearing that the place would be dreadfully painful to
all but the younger ones, who, of course, had the usual child-gift of
forgetting. The servants--even Walter--looked thin and anxious.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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