"
"Oh, thank you, thank you, dear Mrs. Wheatfield! If I can only get
safe home!"
"Come, don't be in haste. You'll take a bit of bread and cheese,
and just a draught of ale to hearten you up a bit."
Aurelia was too sick at heart for food, and feared to delay, lest
she should meet the congregation, but Mrs. Wheatfield forced on her
a little basket with some provisions, and she gladly accepted
another draught of milk.
No one came out by the little door she was told; all she had to do
would be to keep out of sight when the ringers came in before the
afternoon service. She knew the way, and was soon close to Mary
Sedhurst's grave. "Ah! why was he not constant to her," she thought;
"and oh! why has he deserted me in my need?"
The little door easily yielded, and she found herself--after passing
the staircase-turret that led by a gallery to the belfry in the centre
of the church--in an exceedingly dilapidated transept; once, no doubt,
it had been beautiful, before the coloured glass of the floriated
window had been knocked out and its place supplied with bricks. The
broken effigy of a crusading Sedhurst, devoid of arms, feet, and nose
was stowed away in the eastern sepulchre, in company with funeral
apparatus, torn books, and moth-eaten cushions.
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