'He entered the church. The evening service was concluded and
the congregation had dispersed, but it was not yet closed. His
steps echoed through the low building with a hollow sound, and
he almost feared to be alone, it was so still and quiet. He looked
round him. Nothing was changed. The place seemed smaller than
it used to be; but there were the old monuments on which he had
gazed with childish awe a thousand times; the little pulpit with
its faded cushion; the Communion table before which he had so
often repeated the Commandments he had reverenced as a child,
and forgotten as a man. He approached the old seat; it looked
cold and desolate. The cushion had been removed, and the Bible
was not there. Perhaps his mother now occupied a poorer seat, or
possibly she had grown infirm and could not reach the church
alone. He dared not think of what he feared. A cold feeling crept
over him, and he trembled violently as he turned away.
'An old man entered the porch just as he reached it. Edmunds
started back, for he knew him well; many a time he had watched
him digging graves in the churchyard. What would he say to the
returned convict?
'The old man raised his eyes to the stranger's face, bade him
"good-evening," and walked slowly on.
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