They walked to church by the path across the fields, and the cattle
raised their heads to look at Simon’s suitable clothes, and the inch of
escaped ribbon frisking on Sarah’s suitable bonnet. They went
arm-in-arm through the still churchyard, where their forefathers, lying
together, saw nothing strange in this new conjunction of old names; and
arm-in-arm up the empty aisle towards the cave of the chancel that had
the flower of its rose window set in it like a jewelled eye. Their
boots sounded terribly loud on the uncarpeted tiles, and they trod on
tiptoe when they crossed the stones of the vaults, because the names
looking up seemed somehow to turn into the uplifted faces of the
prostrate dead. And presently the stone of the chancel-steps had stopped
them as with a bar, bidding them think, in that last moment, whether the
feet of their purpose had been rightly set.
They felt very small as they waited among the climbing pillars and under
the spring of the groined roof, smaller and smaller as the unmarked
minutes passed and nobody came. A shaft of light from the clerestory
touched them like the point of a sacrificial knife, showing their faces
humble and patient and a little too anxious to be glad. A bird flashed
in through the open chancel-door, sat for a moment on the altar-rail and
sang, and then caught sight of the sunlit country and flashed out again.
It had not even seen the waiting couple who were so very quiet and so
terribly small. And then, just as they were at their smallest, the
Pageant of Eliza had swept in.
There were many to tell them afterwards of the sensation in the village
when Eliza in gorgeous apparel had come driving with trampling horses to
the old lych-gate. At the sound of the horses’ hoofs and the first
flash of the veil the houses had emptied themselves as a teapot empties
itself when you tilt the spout. Veils were the prerogative of the
’quality’ in those days, and that in itself was sufficient to make a
stir. In a moment there were groups on the green, children running up
the street and folk pressing into the churchyard, and in a moment more
the veiled yet flaunting figure had passed into the church, an
over-rigged ship up the straight estuary of the aisle.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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