As the minutes sped in the breathing silence of the chapel the emotional tension grew tighter; worshippers sighed heavily, or called upon Jehovah for a sign, or merely coughed an invocation.  And then at last the clock in the middle of the balcony gave forth the single stroke to which it was limited; the ministers rose, and the congregation after them; and everybody smiled as though it was the millennium, and not simply the new year, that had set in.  Then, faintly, through walls and shut windows, came the sound of bells and of steam syrens and whistles.  The superintendent minister opened his hymn-book, and the hymn was sung which had been sung in Wesleyan Chapels on New Year’s morn since the era of John Wesley himself.  The organ finished with a clanguor of all its pipes; the minister had a few last words with Jehovah, and nothing was left to do except to persevere in well-doing.  The people leaned towards each other across the high backs of the pews.

“A happy New Year!”

“Eh, thank ye!  The same to you!”

“Another Watch Night service over!”

“Eh, yes!” And a sigh.

Then the aisles were suddenly crowded, and there was a good-humoured, optimistic pushing towards the door.  In the Corinthian porch occurred a great putting-on of cloaks, ulsters, goloshes, and even pattens, and a great putting-up of umbrellas.  And the congregation went out into the whirling snow, dividing into several black, silent-footed processions, down Trafalgar Road, up towards the playground, along the market-place, and across Duck Square in the direction of St. Luke’s Square.

Mr. Povey was between Mrs. Baines and Constance.

“You must take my arm, my pet,” said Mrs. Baines to Sophia.

Then Mr. Povey and Constance waded on in front through the drifts.  Sophia balanced that enormous swaying mass, her mother.  Owing to their hoops, she had much difficulty in keeping close to her.  Mrs. Baines laughed with the complacent ease of obesity, yet a fall would have been almost irremediable for her; and so Sophia had to laugh too.  But, though she laughed, God had not helped her.  She did not know where she was going, nor what might happen to her next.

“Why, bless us!” exclaimed Mrs. Baines, as they turned the corner into King Street.  “There’s some one sitting on our door-step!”

There was:  a figure swathed in an ulster, a maud over the ulster, and a high hat on the top of all.  It could not have been there very long, because it was only speckled with snow.  Mr. Povey plunged forward.

“It’s Mr. Scales, of all people!” said Mr. Povey.

“Mr. Scales!” cried Mrs. Baines.

And, “Mr. Scales!” murmured Sophia, terribly afraid.