The air was still and the rumble of the town scarcely
penetrated into their street; they could hear the ugly voice of the
little Chapel bell jangling in the heart of the houses, there was a
scent of chrysanthemums from somewhere and a very faint suggestion
of snow--even before they reached the Chapel door a few flakes
lazily began to fall.
Maggie was thinking now only of Martin. There was a gas-lamp already
lighted in the Chapel doorway, and this blinded her eyes. She had
hoped that he would be there, waiting, so that he might have a word
with her before they went in, but when they were all gathered
together under the porch she saw with a throb of disappointment that
he was not there. She saw no one whom she knew, but it struck her at
once that here was a gathering quite different from that of the
first time that she had come to the Chapel. There seemed to be more
of the servant class; rather they were older women with serious rapt
expressions and very silent. There were men too, to-night, four or
five gathered together inside the passage, standing gravely, without
a word, not moving, like statues.
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