One woman, with more active intellect than some of the rest, began to dilate on the signs already in the world which proved the Second Advent was near.  Her tone was not one of exulted feeling, but of calm reason.  Her desire was evidently to strengthen her sisters who might be cast down.  In her view all the ages of the history of the vast human race were seen in the natural perspective which makes things that are near loom larger than all that is far.  The world, she affirmed, was more evil than it had ever been.  In the Church there was such spiritual death as never before.  The few great revivals there were showed that now the poor were being bidden from the highways to the marriage feast.  And above all else, it was now proved that the coming of the Lord was nigh, because bands of the elect everywhere were watching and waiting for the great event.  Her speech was well put forth in the midst of the weary descent.  She did not say more than was needed.  If there were drooping hearts among her friends they were probably cheered.

Then some more emotional talkers took up the exultant strain again.  It was hard for Trenholme not to estimate the inner hearts of all these women by the words that he heard, and therefore to attribute all the grace of the midnight hour to the dead.

When they got to the bottom of the hill, the farmer, at the request of men who had gone first, had another waggon in readiness to take home the women who had come to the hill on foot or who had sent away their vehicles.  Many of them did not belong to the village of Chellaston.  It was evidently better that the lighter waggon which had come from Chellaston should go round now to the outlying farms, and that all the villagers should return in that provided by the farmer.  Trenholme put in the child, who was now sleeping, and helped in the women, one by one.  Their white skirts were wet and soiled; he felt this as he aided them to dispose them on the straw which had been put in for warmth.  The farmer, an Englishman, made some wise, and not uncivil, observations upon the expediency of remaining at home at dead of night as compared with ascending hills in white frocks.  He was a kind man, but his words made Winifred’s tears flow afresh.  She shrank behind the rest.  Trenholme kissed her little cold hand when he had put her in.  Then, last of all, he helped Sophia.

She had no words ready now to offer him by which to make amends.  “You have hurt your foot?” she said.

He told her briefly that his foot had twisted under him, so that at first he had not been able to come on for the sprain, and he clasped her hand as he bade the waggon drive on.

Feeling the lack of apology on her own part she thought he had shown himself the greater, in that he had evidently pardoned her without it.

He did not feel himself to be great.