“_Jehoiakin!_” The rush of indistinct expostulating sound coming from the pulpit was accompanied for a moment by reverberations of the one clearly bawled word. The sense of the large cold church, the great stone pillars, the long narrow windows faintly stained with yellowish green, the harsh North London congregation stirred and seemed to settle down more securely. She saw the form of the vicar in the light grey stone pulpit standing up short and neat against the cold grey stone wall, enveloped in fine soft folds, his small puckered hands beautifully cuffed, his plump crumpled little face, his small bald head fringed with little saffron-white curls, his pink pouched busy mouth. What was it all about? Pompous pottering, going on and on and on--in the Old Testament. The whole church was in the Old Testament.... _Honour_ thy father and thy mother. How horribly the words would echo through the great cold church. _Why_ honour thy father and thy mother? What had they done that was so honourable? Everybody was dying in cold secret fear. Christ, the son of God, was part of it all, the same family ... vindictive. Christmas and Easter, hard white cold flowers, no real explanation. “I came not to destroy but to fulfil.” The stagnant blood flushed in her face and tingled in her ears as the words occurred to her. Why didn’t everybody die at once and stop it all? 4 Miss Haddie paused at the door of her room and wheeled suddenly round to face Miriam who had just reached the landing. “You’ve not seen my little corner,” she tweedled breathlessly, throwing open her door. Miriam went in. “Oh how nice,” she said fearfully, breathing in the freshness of a little square sun-filled muslin-draped, blue-papered room. Taking refuge at the white-skirted window, she found a narrow view of the park, greener than the one she knew. The wide yellow pathway going up through the cricket ground had shifted away to the right. “It’s really a--a--a dressing-room from your room.” “Oh,” said Miriam vivaciously. “There’s a door, a--a--a door. I daresay you’ve noticed.” “Oh! _That’s_ the door in our cupboard!” The dim door behind the hanging garments led to nothing but to Miss Haddie’s room. She began unbuttoning her gloves. Miss Haddie was hesitating near a cupboard, making little sounds. “I suppose we must all make ourselves tidy now,” said Miriam. “I thought you didn’t look very happy in church this morning,” cluttered Miss Haddie rapidly. Miriam felt heavy with anger. “Oh,” she said clumsily, “I had the most frightful headache.” “Poor child. I thought ye didn’t look yerself.”