Instantly the stick was placed there the bells in the church tower began ringing and the pastor, the sexton, and the verger came out from the vestry and took their places at the head of the funeral procession.

The rain came in showers that day, but it happened, luckily, that there was a let-up while the people formed into line—­menfolk first, then womenfolk—­to follow the two old peasants to their grave.  Those who lined up looked a little surprised at their being there, for they did not feel any grief, nor did they care especially to honour either of the dead.  It was simply this:  when the news was spread throughout the parish that Jan of Ruffluck had come back just in time to be buried with Katrina they had all felt that there was something singularly touching and miraculous about this, which made them want to come and see the old couple reunited in death.  And of course no one dreamed that the same thought would occur to so many others.  They felt that this was almost too much of a demonstration for a couple of poor and lowly cotters.  People glanced at one another rather shamefacedly; but now that they were there, there was nothing to do but go along to the churchyard.  Then, as it occurred to them that this was just what the Emperor of Portugallia would have liked, they smiled to themselves.

Two mace-bearers (for there was also one from the Ashdales) walked in front of the coffins, and the whole parish marched in the funeral procession.  It could not have been better had the Emperor himself arranged for it.  And they were not altogether certain that the whole thing was not his doing.  He had become so wonderful after his death, had the old Emperor.  He must have had a purpose in letting his daughter wait for him; a purpose in rising up out of the deep at just the right time—­as sure as fate!

When they had all come up to the wide grave and the coffins had been lowered into it, the sexton sang “My every step leads to the grave.”

Sexton Blackie was now an old man.  His singing reminded Glory Goldie of that of another old man, to whom she had not wanted to listen.  And the recollection of this brought with it bitter anguish; she pressed her hands to her heart and closed her eyes, so as not to betray her sufferings.

And while she stood thus she saw before her her father as he had been in her childhood, when he and she were such good friends and comrades.  She recognized his face as she had seen it one Sunday morning after a blizzard, when the road was knee-deep with snow and he had to carry her to church.  She saw him again as he appeared the Sunday she went to church in the red dress.  No one had ever looked kinder or happier than Jan did then.  But after that day there had been no more happiness for him, and she had never been quite contented either.

She strove to hold this face before her eyes.  It did her good.  There rose up in her such a strong wave of tenderness as she looked at it!  That face only wished her well.  It was not something to be feared.  This was just the old kind-hearted Jan of Ruffluck.  He would never sit in judgment upon her; he would not bring misfortune and suffering upon his only child.