Between the tower and the church was a close screen, the door of which was kept shut during services, hiding this grotesque clockwork from sight.

At present, however, the door was open, and the egress of the jack, the blows on the bell, and the mannikin's retreat into the nook again, were visible to many, and audible throughout the church.
The jack had struck half-past eleven.
"Where's the woman ?" whispered some of the spectators.
The young sergeant stood still with the abnormal rigidity of the old pillars around.

He faced the south-east, and was as silent as he was still.
The silence grew to be a noticeable thing as the minutes went on, and nobody else appeared, and not a soul moved.

The rattle of the quarter-jack again from its niche, its blows for three-quarters, its fussy retreat, were almost painfully abrupt, and caused many of the congregation to start palpably.
"I wonder where the woman is!" a voice whispered again.
There began now that slight shifting of feet, that artificial coughing among several, which betrays a nervous suspense.

At length there was a titter.