Gillingham joined them, and they left the house, Widow Edlin continuing steadfast in her refusal to assist in the ceremony.
"Where is the church?" said Sue. She had not lived there for any length of time since the old church was pulled down, and in her preoccupation forgot the new one.
"Up here," said Phillotson; and presently the tower loomed large and solemn in the fog. The vicar had already crossed to the building, and when they entered he said, pleasantly, "We almost want candles."
"You do—wish me to be yours, Richard?" gasped Sue, in a whisper.
"Certainly, dear; above all things in the world."
Sue said no more; and for the second or third time he felt he was not quite following out the humane instinct which had induced him to let her go.
There they stood, five altogether: the parson, the clerk, the couple, and Gillingham; and the holy ordinance was resolemnized forthwith. In the nave of the edifice were two or three villagers, and when the clergyman came to the words, "What God hath joined," a woman's voice from among these was heard to utter audibly:
"God hath jined indeed!"
It was like a re-enactment by the ghosts of their former selves of the similar scene which had taken place at Melchester years before. When the books were signed the vicar congratulated the husband and wife on having performed a noble and righteous and mutually forgiving act. "All's well that ends well," he said, smiling. "May you long be happy together, after thus having been 'saved as by fire.'"
They came down the nearly empty building, and crossed to the school-house. Gillingham wanted to get home that night, and left early. He, too, congratulated the couple. "Now," he said, in parting from Phillotson, who walked out a little way, "I shall be able to tell the people
