He entered with the White Farm folk and he sat with them,
leaving the laird's high-walled, curtained pew without human tenancy.
Mrs. Grizel came but to morning sermon. Alice was with a kinswoman of
rank in a great house near Edinburgh, submitting, not without
enjoyment, to certain fine filings and polishings and lacquerings and
contacts. Jamie, who would be a soldier and fight the French, had his
commission and was gone this past week to Carlisle, to his regiment.
English Strickland was yet at Glenfernie House. Between him and the
laird held much liking and respect. Tutor no longer, he stayed on as
secretary and right-hand man. But Strickland was not at church.
The white cavern, bare and chill, with small, deep windows looking out
upon the hills of June, was but sparely set out with folk. Afternoon
was not morning. Nor was there again the disciplinary vision of the
forenoon. The sinners were not set the second time for a gazing-stock.
It was just usual afternoon kirk. The prayer was made, the psalm was
sung, Mr. M'Nab preached a strong if wintry sermon. Jarvis Barrow,
white-headed, strong-featured, intent, sat as in some tower over
against Jerusalem, considering the foes that beset her. Beside him sat
his daughter Jenny, in striped petticoat and plain overgown, blue
kerchief, and hat of straw. Next to Jenny was Elspeth in a dim-green
stuff, thin, besprent with small flowers, a fine white kerchief, and a
wider straw hat.
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