Sylvia's Lovers

With bent heads and spent strength, those who carried the coffin

moved on; behind came the poor old gardener, a brown-black funeral

cloak thrown over his homely dress, and supporting his wife with

steps scarcely less feeble than her own. He had come to church that

afternoon, with a promise to her that he would return to lead her to

the funeral of her firstborn; for he felt, in his sore perplexed

heart, full of indignation and dumb anger, as if he must go and hear

something which should exorcize the unwonted longing for revenge

that disturbed his grief, and made him conscious of that great blank

of consolation which faithfulness produces. And for the time he was

faithless. How came God to permit such cruel injustice of man?

Permitting it, He could not be good. Then what was life, and what

was death, but woe and despair? The beautiful solemn words of the

ritual had done him good, and restored much of his faith. Though he

could not understand why such sorrow had befallen him any more than

before, he had come back to something of his childlike trust; he

kept saying to himself in a whisper, as he mounted the weary steps,

'It is the Lord's doing'; and the repetition soothed him

unspeakably. Behind this old couple followed their children, grown

men and women, come from distant place or farmhouse service; the

servants at the vicarage, and many a neighbour, anxious to show

their sympathy, and most of the sailors from the crews of the

vessels in port, joined in procession, and followed the dead body

into the church.

There was too great a crowd immediately within the door for Sylvia

and Molly to go in again, and they accordingly betook themselves to

the place where the deep grave was waiting, wide and hungry, to

receive its dead. There, leaning against the headstones all around,

were many standing--looking over the broad and placid sea, and

turned to the soft salt air which blew on their hot eyes and rigid

faces; for no one spoke of all that number. They were thinking of

the violent death of him over whom the solemn words were now being

said in the gray old church, scarcely out of their hearing, had not

the sound been broken by the measured lapping of the tide far

beneath.

Suddenly every one looked round towards the path from the churchyard

steps. Two sailors were supporting a ghastly figure that, with

feeble motions, was drawing near the open grave.

'It's t' specksioneer as tried to save him! It's him as was left for

dead!' the people murmured round.

'It's Charley Kinraid, as I'm a sinner!' said Molly, starting

forward to greet her cousin.

But as he came on, she saw that all his strength was needed for the

mere action of walking. The sailors, in their strong sympathy, had

yielded to his earnest entreaty, and carried him up the steps, in

order that he might see the last of his messmate. They placed him

near the grave, resting against a stone; and he was hardly there

before the vicar came forth, and the great crowd poured out of the

church, following the body to the grave.