was occupied
by an altar-tomb with Sir Nicholas' parents lying in black stone upon it.
Old Sir James held his right gauntlet in his left hand, and with his
right hand held the right hand of his wife, which was crossed over to
meet it; and the two steady faces gazed upon the disfigured roof. The
altar, where a weekly requiem had been said for them, was gone, and the
footpace and piscina alone showed where it had stood.

"This was a chantry, of course?" said Mistress Corbet.

The Rector confessed that it had been so.

"Ah!" she said mournfully, "the altar is cast out and the priest gone;
but--but--forgive me, sir, the money is here still? But then," she added,
"I suppose the money is not a superstition."

When they reached the west entrance again she turned and looked up the
aisle again.

"And the Rood!" she said. "Even Christ crucified is gone. Then, in God's
name what is left?" And her eyes turned fiercely for a moment on the
Rector.

"At least courtesy and Christian kindness is left, madam," he said
sternly.

She dropped her eyes and went out; and Isabel and Anthony followed,
startled and ashamed. But Mary had recovered herself as she came on to
the head of the stone stairs, beside which the stump of the churchyard
cross stood; standing there was the same tall, slender woman whose back
they had seen through the window, and who now stood eyeing Mary with
half-dropped lids. Her face was very white, with hard lines from nose to
mouth, and thin, tightly compressed lips. Mary swept her with one look,
and then passed on and down the steps, followed by Isabel and Anthony, as
the Rector came out, locking the church door again behind him.

As they went up the green, a shrill thin voice began to scold from over
the churchyard wall, and they heard the lower, determined voice of the
minister answering.

"They are at it again," said Anthony, once more.

"And what do you mean by that, Master Anthony?" said Mistress Corbet, who
seemed herself again now.

"She is just a scold," said the lad, "the village-folk hate her."

"You seem not to love her," said Mary, smiling.

"Oh! Mistress Corbet, do you know what she said--" and then he broke off,
crimson-faced.

"She is no friend to Catholics, I suppose," said Mary, seeming to notice
nothing.

"She is always making mischief," he went on eagerly. "The Rector would be
well enough but for her. He is a good fellow, really."

"There, there," said Mary, "and you think me a s