Fancy being buried there!"
"A beautiful spot in summer.
Do you remember what Keats said about one being half in love with death to be buried in so sweet a place?"
"Giles," she cried half hysterically, "don't talk like that.
I may be dead and buried before you know that a tragedy has occurred.
The cards say that I am to die young."
"Why, Daisy, what is the matter?"
She made no reply.
A memory of the anonymous letter and its threat came home vividly to her as she stepped inside the churchyard.
Who knew but what within a few days she might be borne through that self-same gate in her coffin?
However, she had promised to say nothing about the letter, and fearful lest she should let slip some remark to arouse the suspicions of Giles, she flew up the path.
Already the village folk were thronging to the midnight service.
The bells were ringing with a musical chime, and the painted windows of the church glittered with rainbow hues.
The organist was playing some Christmas carol, and the waves of sound rolled out solemnly on the still air.
With salutation and curtsey the villagers passed by the young squire.
He waited to hand over his car to his servant, who came up at the moment, breathless with haste.
"Shall I wait for you, sir?"
"No, take the car to the inn, and make yourself comfortable.
In an hour you can return."
Nothing loth to get indoors and out of the bitter cold, the man drove the machine, humming like a top, down the road.
The sky was now clouding over, and a wind was getting up.
As Giles walked into the church he thought there was every promise of a storm, and wondered that it should labor up so rapidly considering the previous calm of the night.
However, he did not think further on the matter, but when within looked around for Daisy.
She was at the lower end of the church staring not at the altar now glittering with candles, but at the figure of a woman some distance away who was kneeling with her face hidden in her hands.
With a thrill Giles recognized Anne, and fearful lest Daisy should be jealous did he remain in her vicinity, he made his way up to his own pew, which was in the lady chapel near the altar.
Here he took his seat and strove to forget both the woman he loved and the woman he did not love.
But it was difficult for him to render his mind a blank on this subject.
The organ had been silent for some time, but it now recommenced its low-breathed music.
Then the choir came slowly up the aisle singing lustily a Christmas hymn.
The vicar, severe and ascetic, followed, his eyes bent on the ground.
When the service commenced Giles tried to pay attention, but found it almost impossible to prevent his thoughts wandering towards the two women.
He tried to see them, but pillars intervened, and he could not catch a glimpse of either.
But his gaze fell on the tall figure of a man who was standing at the lower end of the church near the door.
He was evidently a stranger, for his eyes wandered inquisitively round the church.
In a heavy great-coat and with a white scarf round his throat, he was well protected against the cold.
Giles noted his thin face, his short red beard, and his large black eyes.
His age was probably something over fifty, and he looked ill, worried, and worn.
Wondering who he was and what brought him to such an out-of-the-way place as Rickwell at such a time, Giles settled himself comfortably in his seat to hear the sermon.
The vicar was not a particularly original preacher.
He discoursed platitudes about the coming year and the duties it entailed on his congregation.
Owing to the length of the sermon and the lateness of the hour, the people yawned and turned uneasily in their seats.
But no one ventured to leave the church, although the sermon lasted close on an hour.
It seemed as though the preacher would never leave off insisting on the same things over and over again.
He repeated himself twice and thrice, and interspersed his common-place English with the lordly roll of biblical texts.
But for his position, Giles would have gone away.
It was long over the hour, and he knew that his servant would be waiting in the cold.
When he stood up for the concluding hymn he craned his head round a pillar to see Daisy. She had vanished, and he thought that like himself she had grown weary of the sermon, but more fortunate than he, she had been able to slip away.
Anne's place he could not see and did not know whether she was absent or present.
Giles wondered for one delicious moment if he could see her before she left the church.
Daisy, evidently wearied by the sermon, had gone home, there was no one to spy upon him, and he might be able to have Anne all to himself for a time.