His father eats very little, speaks scarcely at all, but thinks, thinks-and most assuredly not of sacred subjects.
Breakfast over, there follows an hour of indescribable dreariness, until the neighbourhood begins to sound with the clanging of religious bells.

Mr.Elgar has withdrawn to a little room of his own, where perhaps, he gives himself up to meditation on the duties of a Christian parent, though his incredulous son has ere now had a glimpse at the door, and observed him in the attitude of letter-writing.

Mrs.Elgar moves about silently, the pain on her brow deepening as chapel-time approaches.

At length the boy and girl go upstairs to be "got ready," which means that they indue other garments yet more uncomfortable than those they already wear.

This process over, they descend again to the breakfast-room, and again sit there, waiting for the dread moment of departure.