"Oh, my wasted life, Helen,--my life that has wronged and cheated you!" "John!" she said, almost frightened.

Yet it was characteristic that she should think this was only a symptom of overwork and bodily weariness.
And when at last they reached the church in Chester, and John lifted her from her saddle, the anxiety had come again, and all the joy of the summer morning had left her face.

They fastened their horses to one of the big chestnuts which stood in a stately row in front of the little white church, and then Helen went inside, and found a seat by one of the open windows; she secretly pushed the long inside shutter, with its drab slats turned down, half-way open, so that she might look out across the burying-ground, where the high blossoming grass nodded and waved over the sunken graves.
John had followed her, and folded a coat over the back of the pew.

He gave her a long, yearning look, but did not speak.

Then he turned, and walked slowly up the aisle, with reverently bent head.
At the first hymn the congregation turned and faced the choir.