Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. All the village was assembled in the churchyard. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. She bounced onto her bottom. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. The aspect of the place, so far as he could discern through the gloom, was strange to him; but chancing to raise his eyes above the level of the surrounding habitations, he beheld, relieved against the sombre sky, the tall steeple of Saint Giles's church, the precursor of the present structure, which was not erected till some fifteen years later. The girl was pretty, and apparently a lady.
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