She thought of this as another opportunity. She might go to the depot.
A little before the time for the funeral cortege to arrive at the church there appeared at one of its subsidiary entrances a woman in black, heavily veiled, who took a seat in an inconspicuous corner.
She was a little nervous at first, for, seeing that the church was dark and empty, she feared lest she had mistaken the time and place; but after ten minutes of painful suspense a bell in the church tower began to toll solemnly.
Shortly thereafter an acolyte in black gown and white surplice appeared and lighted groups of candles on either side of the altar.
A hushed stirring of feet in the choir-loft indicated that the service was to be accompanied by music.
Some loiterers, attracted by the bell, some idle strangers, a few acquaintances and citizens not directly invited appeared and took seats.
Jennie watched all this with wondering eyes.
Never in her life had she been inside a Catholic church.
The gloom, the beauty of the windows, the whiteness of the altar, the golden flames of the candles impressed her.
She was suffused with a sense of sorrow, loss, beauty, and mystery.
Life in all its vagueness and uncertainty seemed typified by this scene.
As the bell tolled there came from the sacristy a procession of altar-boys.
The smallest, an angelic youth of eleven, came first, bearing aloft a magnificent silver cross.
In the hands of each subsequent pair of servitors was held a tall, lighted candle.
The priest, in black cloth and lace, attended by an acolyte on either hand, followed.
The procession passed out the entrance into the vestibule of the church, and was not seen again until the choir began a mournful, responsive chant, the Latin supplication for mercy and peace.
Then, at this sound the solemn procession made its reappearance.
There came the silver cross, the candles, the dark-faced priest, reading dramatically to himself as he walked, and the body of Lester in a great black coffin, with silver handles, carried by the pall-bearers, who kept an even pace.
Jennie stiffened perceptibly, her nerves responding as though to a shock from an electric current.
She did not know any of these men.
She did not know Robert. She had never seen Mr. Midgely.
Of the long company of notables who followed two by two she recognized only three, whom Lester had pointed out to her in times past.
Mrs. Kane she saw, of course, for she was directly behind the coffin, leaning on the arm of a stranger; behind her walked Mr. Watson, solemn, gracious.
He gave a quick glance to either side, evidently expecting to see her somewhere; but not finding her, he turned his eyes gravely forward and walked on.
Jennie looked with all her eyes, her heart gripped by pain.
She seemed so much a part of this solemn ritual, and yet infinitely removed from it all.
The procession reached the altar rail, and the coffin was put down.
A white shroud bearing the insignia of suffering, a black cross, was put over it, and the great candles were set beside it.
There were the chanted invocations and responses, the sprinkling of the coffin with holy water, the lighting and swinging of the censer and then the mumbled responses of the auditors to the Lord's Prayer and to its Catholic addition, the invocation to the Blessed Virgin.
Jennie was overawed and amazed, but no show of form colorful, impression imperial, could take away the sting of death, the sense of infinite loss.
To Jennie the candles, the incense, the holy song were beautiful. They touched the deep chord of melancholy in her, and made it vibrate through the depths of her being. She was as a house filled with mournful melody and the presence of death.
She cried and cried.
She could see, curiously, that Mrs. Kane was sobbing convulsively also.
When it was all over the carriages were entered and the body was borne to the station.
All the guests and strangers departed, and finally, when all was silent, she arose.
Now she would go to the depot also, for she was hopeful of seeing his body put on the train.
They would have to bring it out on the platform, just as they did in Vesta's case.
She took a car, and a little later she entered the waiting-room of the depot.
She lingered about, first in the concourse, where the great iron fence separated the passengers from the tracks, and then in the waiting-room, hoping to discover the order of proceedings.
She finally observed the group of immediate relatives waiting—Mrs. Kane, Robert, Mrs. Midgely, Louise, Amy, Imogene, and the others.
She actually succeeded in identifying most of them, though it was not knowledge in this case, but pure instinct and intuition.
No one had noticed it in the stress of excitement, but it was Thanksgiving Eve.
Throughout the great railroad station there was a hum of anticipation, that curious ebullition of fancy which springs from the thought of pleasures to come. People were going away for the holiday.
Carriages were at the station entries.
Announcers were calling in stentorian voices the destination of each new train as the time of its departure drew near.
Jennie heard with a desperate ache the description of a route which she and Lester had taken more than once, slowly and melodiously emphasized.
"Detroit, Toledo, Cleveland, Buffalo, and New York."
There were cries of trains for "Fort Wayne, Columbus, Pittsburg, Philadelphia, and points East," and then finally for "Indianapolis, Louisville, Columbus, Cincinnati, and points South." The hour had struck.
Several times Jennie had gone to the concourse between the waiting-room and the tracks to see if through the iron grating which separated her from her beloved she could get one last look at the coffin, or the great wooden box which held it, before it was put on the train.
Now she saw it coming.