Chapter 53

           ItwaseveningatEmminsterVicarage.ThetwocustomarycandleswereburningundertheirgreenshadesintheVicar’sstudy,buthehadnotbeensittingthere.Occasionallyhecamein,stirredthesmallfirewhichsufficedfortheincreasingmildnessofthespring,andwentoutagain;sometimespausingatthefrontdoor,goingontothedrawing-room,thenreturningagaintothefrontdoor.

           Itfacedwestward,andthoughgloomprevailedinside,therewasstilllightenoughwithouttoseewithdistinctness.MrsClare,whohadbeensittinginthedrawing-room,followedhimhither.

           “Plentyoftimeyet,”saidtheVicar.“Hedoesn’treachChalk-Newtontillsix,evenifthetrainshouldbepunctual,andtenmilesofcountry-road,fiveoftheminCrimmercrockLane,arenotjoggedoverinahurrybyouroldhorse.”

           “Buthehasdoneitinanhourwithus,mydear.”

           “Yearsago.”

           Thustheypassedtheminutes,eachwellknowingthatthiswasonlywasteofbreath,theoneessentialbeingsimplytowait.

           Atlengththerewasaslightnoiseinthelane,andtheoldpony-chaiseappearedindeedoutsidetherailings.Theysawalighttherefromaformwhichtheyaffectedtorecognize,butwouldactuallyhavepassedbyinthestreetwithoutidentifyinghadhenotgotoutoftheircarriageattheparticularmomentwhenaparticularpersonwasdue.

           MrsClarerushedthroughthedarkpassagetothedoor,andherhusbandcamemoreslowlyafterher.