Then there was a little movement in the crowd; a little pushing from side to side, to make a path for the corpse and its bearers--an aggregate of the fragments of room.
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.