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A
moment
later
Mr
.
Miles
,
pink
and
twinkling
,
emerged
from
the
background
,
as
if
buoyed
up
on
his
broad
white
gown
,
and
briskly
dominated
the
bowed
heads
in
the
front
rows
.
He
prayed
energetically
and
briefly
and
then
retired
,
and
a
fierce
nod
from
Lambert
Sollas
warned
the
girls
that
they
were
to
follow
at
once
with
“
Home
,
Sweet
Home
.
”
It
was
a
joy
to
Charity
to
sing
:
it
seemed
as
though
,
for
the
first
time
,
her
secret
rapture
might
burst
from
her
and
flash
its
defiance
at
the
world
.
All
the
glow
in
her
blood
,
the
breath
of
the
summer
earth
,
the
rustle
of
the
forest
,
the
fresh
call
of
birds
at
sunrise
,
and
the
brooding
midday
languors
,
seemed
to
pass
into
her
untrained
voice
,
lifted
and
led
by
the
sustaining
chorus
.
And
then
suddenly
the
song
was
over
,
and
after
an
uncertain
pause
,
during
which
Miss
Hatchard
’
s
pearl
-
grey
gloves
started
a
furtive
signalling
down
the
hall
,
Mr
.
Royall
,
emerging
in
turn
,
ascended
the
steps
of
the
stage
and
appeared
behind
the
flower
-
wreathed
desk
.
He
passed
close
to
Charity
,
and
she
noticed
that
his
gravely
set
face
wore
the
look
of
majesty
that
used
to
awe
and
fascinate
her
childhood
.
His
frock
-
coat
had
been
carefully
brushed
and
ironed
,
and
the
ends
of
his
narrow
black
tie
were
so
nearly
even
that
the
tying
must
have
cost
him
a
protracted
struggle
.
His
appearance
struck
her
all
the
more
because
it
was
the
first
time
she
had
looked
him
full
in
the
face
since
the
night
at
Nettleton
,
and
nothing
in
his
grave
and
impressive
demeanour
revealed
a
trace
of
the
lamentable
figure
on
the
wharf
.
He
stood
a
moment
behind
the
desk
,
resting
his
finger
-
tips
against
it
,
and
bending
slightly
toward
his
audience
;
then
he
straightened
himself
and
began
.
At
first
she
paid
no
heed
to
what
he
was
saying
:
only
fragments
of
sentences
,
sonorous
quotations
,
allusions
to
illustrious
men
,
including
the
obligatory
tribute
to
Honorius
Hatchard
,
drifted
past
her
inattentive
ears
.
She
was
trying
to
discover
Harney
among
the
notable
people
in
the
front
row
;
but
he
was
nowhere
near
Miss
Hatchard
,
who
,
crowned
by
a
pearl
-
grey
hat
that
matched
her
gloves
,
sat
just
below
the
desk
,
supported
by
Mrs
.
Miles
and
an
important
-
looking
unknown
lady
.
Charity
was
near
one
end
of
the
stage
,
and
from
where
she
sat
the
other
end
of
the
first
row
of
seats
was
cut
off
by
the
screen
of
foliage
masking
the
harmonium
.
The
effort
to
see
Harney
around
the
corner
of
the
screen
,
or
through
its
interstices
,
made
her
unconscious
of
everything
else
;
but
the
effort
was
unsuccessful
,
and
gradually
she
found
her
attention
arrested
by
her
guardian
’
s
discourse
.
She
had
never
heard
him
speak
in
public
before
,
but
she
was
familiar
with
the
rolling
music
of
his
voice
when
he
read
aloud
,
or
held
forth
to
the
selectmen
about
the
stove
at
Carrick
Fry
’
s
.
Today
his
inflections
were
richer
and
graver
than
she
had
ever
known
them
:
he
spoke
slowly
,
with
pauses
that
seemed
to
invite
his
hearers
to
silent
participation
in
his
thought
;
and
Charity
perceived
a
light
of
response
in
their
faces
.
He
was
nearing
the
end
of
his
address
.
.
.
“
Most
of
you
,
”
he
said
,
“
most
of
you
who
have
returned
here
today
,
to
take
contact
with
this
little
place
for
a
brief
hour
,
have
come
only
on
a
pious
pilgrimage
,
and
will
go
back
presently
to
busy
cities
and
lives
full
of
larger
duties
.
But
that
is
not
the
only
way
of
coming
back
to
North
Dormer
.
Some
of
us
,
who
went
out
from
here
in
our
youth
.
.
.
went
out
,
like
you
,
to
busy
cities
and
larger
duties
.
.
.
have
come
back
in
another
way
—
come
back
for
good
.
I
am
one
of
those
,
as
many
of
you
know
.
.
.
.
”
He
paused
,
and
there
was
a
sense
of
suspense
in
the
listening
hall
.
“
My
history
is
without
interest
,
but
it
has
its
lesson
:
not
so
much
for
those
of
you
who
have
already
made
your
lives
in
other
places
,
as
for
the
young
men
who
are
perhaps
planning
even
now
to
leave
these
quiet
hills
and
go
down
into
the
struggle
.
Things
they
cannot
foresee
may
send
some
of
those
young
men
back
some
day
to
the
little
township
and
the
old
homestead
:
they
may
come
back
for
good
.
.
.
.
”
He
looked
about
him
,
and
repeated
gravely
:
“
For
GOOD
.
There
’
s
the
point
I
want
to
make
.
.
.
North
Dormer
is
a
poor
little
place
,
almost
lost
in
a
mighty
landscape
:
perhaps
,
by
this
time
,
it
might
have
been
a
bigger
place
,
and
more
in
scale
with
the
landscape
,
if
those
who
had
to
come
back
had
come
with
that
feeling
in
their
minds
—
that
they
wanted
to
come
back
for
GOOD
.
.
.
and
not
for
bad
.
.
.
or
just
for
indifference
.
.
.
.
“
Gentlemen
,
let
us
look
at
things
as
they
are
.
Some
of
us
have
come
back
to
our
native
town
because
we
’
d
failed
to
get
on
elsewhere
.
One
way
or
other
,
things
had
gone
wrong
with
us
.
.
.
what
we
’
d
dreamed
of
hadn
’
t
come
true
.
But
the
fact
that
we
had
failed
elsewhere
is
no
reason
why
we
should
fail
here
.
Our
very
experiments
in
larger
places
,
even
if
they
were
unsuccessful
,
ought
to
have
helped
us
to
make
North
Dormer
a
larger
place
.
.
.
and
you
young
men
who
are
preparing
even
now
to
follow
the
call
of
ambition
,
and
turn
your
back
on
the
old
homes
—
well
,
let
me
say
this
to
you
,
that
if
ever
you
do
come
back
to
them
it
’
s
worth
while
to
come
back
to
them
for
their
good
.
.
.
.
