* * *
Sunday came at last. "A clear shining after rain." Where had he heard those words? Somewhere in the book of Samuel? They seemed exactly to describe what he saw when he opened his tent door on that Sunday morning. Everything looked refreshed and invigorated by the rain of the day before, and the bright sunshine was making the drops still clinging to the hedges and long grass sparkle like so many diamonds.
This, then, was his last full day at Hildick. He could not help feeling sorry when he remembered this, in spite of his great anxiety to get back to his busy life in London.
How would he pass the morning? The Sunday before, he had walked with Jack to the distant church; but today surely Doris would be going with Jack -- and if he went they would wish him at Jericho, or a little farther. So he sat alone at the end of the headland and watched the waves, and drank in the pure sea air, and thought how long it would be before he saw so lovely a place again.
In the afternoon he sat with old Mr. Norris on the seat in the castle courtyard, and had tea afterwards in the farmhouse kitchen. Then he went back to his tent to get ready for the evening church service. He went into the castle on his way down the hill, but found no one there but the old man. All the rest had gone down the hill to be in time to get seats in the tiny church.
The doctor followed them quickly, but found when he got near that the bell had just stopped. He saw that the place was full, even the porch was packed with people who were afraid of the heat inside and preferred a cooler seat. Forester looked inside and saw only one vacant chair. He made his way to it, and just as he was sitting down he noticed that Doris Somerville was next him.
"Jack won't mind," he thought, "for he can't sit here himself."
He would never have chosen to sit there, but as he had no possibility of changing his place he could not keep back a feeling of pleasure at being near Doris just once more. "It is the last night, the very last night," he said to himself.
The service was hearty. Everyone joined in the responses; everyone listened attentively as Jack read the lessons. And then came the first hymn. Norman Forester had no hymn book, for there were very few in the church. Doris had one, however. When they stood up to sing she held it for him to look over with her. He could hear her voice clearly as she sang the compelling words:
I heard the voice of Jesus say,
"Come unto me and rest."
Forester tried to sing too, but the words seemed to choke him. Was his hand trembling as he held his side of the book? Or was it hers? It surely could not have been hers. He was glad when the hymn was over and they knelt down again.
The next hymn was easier, and he joined in. No one could help singing in that church. And then came Jack's sermon, the last Forester knew he would hear at Hildick. He wondered when he would hear Jack preach again, and where.
He blamed himself afterwards that he could remember so little of Jack's sermon. He heard it as if he was in a dream. He listened to it, and it comforted him at the time, yet when he tried to recall it afterwards he could only remember a few sentences. But he never forgot the text from Psalm 73.
"Thou shalt guide me with Thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory."
That text would be his sheet anchor, he decided, in the new life of work which he was to enter that week. The Guide would be his here, and the glory would be his in the Eternity beyond.
Then came the last hymn, and Forester looked up quickly as Jack gave it out, "O Thou by long experience tried, Near whom no grief can long abide,"
The opening words for familiar. Surely this was the hymn which he had mentioned earlier to Doris. He looked at the end, and there, as he felt sure he would find it, was the well-known verse:
While place we seek or place we shun,
The soul finds happiness in none;
But with my God to guide my way
'Tis equal joy to go or stay."
Doris began to sing the verse, but she suddenly stopped. He felt sure now that her hand was trembling as well as his. He did not dare look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on the hymnbook. It was over at last, and they knelt down, and Jack's confident voice gave the blessing.
Forester let the others go on and waited for Jack who was some time in coming, as he was talking to the old clerk. Forester had promised to go to the Mainwarings at the Bank for supper, and he could not get out of it that last evening. He wondered whether Doris had told Jack what he had said about that verse. Certainly Jack had quoted it in an earlier sermon, but why sing it now? He thought Doris must have mentioned his conversation with her, and it rather surprised him.
He had said to her what he would never have dreamed of saying to anyone else, and she should have respected his confidence. But after all, he thought, what could be more natural than for her to tell Jack? Was he not Jack's friend? And of course, now she would tell Jack everything. Yet although he argued with himself in this way, still, at the bottom of his heart, it rather hurt him that Doris must have repeated words which after all were only meant for her ear.
Yet perhaps even in this thought he wronged her. Perhaps it was only a remarkable coincidence that the hymn should have been chosen. Stranger things than that had happened, and indeed were constantly happening.
Jack was ready at last, and the two friends walked up the village together.
"Jack," said Forester, "who chooses the hymns?
"I do. I choose them every Saturday, and let the organist have them so she can play them over."
Then she had told him. There could be no doubt about it now.
"I liked those we had tonight very much," said Forester.
"So did I. Oh, by the bye, I had forgotten. I was busy yesterday evening, and Doris said she would decide on the hymns for me. So you have to thank her for choosing those you liked."
Norman Forester gave a sigh of relief. She had not betrayed his confidence after all. She must have chosen that hymn because she knew it was his last Sunday, and because she felt sure that he was fond of it. It is just like Doris, he said to himself. Even in her joy she could think of others and try to give them pleasure.
Doris Somerville and her father came to the Bank for supper. She looked pale and quiet. Forester thought perhaps she was not feeling well. He devoted himself to Mab and Dolly Mainwaring, but could not help glancing at her from time to time, and he rather wondered that Jack did not talk to her more. He seemed to take so little notice of her, but doubtless he was feeling tired after his Sunday's work.
It was nearly ten o'clock when Forester rose and said goodnight to them all.
"We'll see you tomorrow," Mrs. Sinclair said. "Come to breakfast. It's your last morning, so you can't refuse."
He thanked her, but said he was afraid he would not be able to come down the hill because Maxie was to arrive at nine o'clock to help him to take down his tent. Hearing this, Mrs. Sinclair promised to have breakfast half an hour earlier, and he was obliged to tell her that he would come.
Doris was in the hall getting her coat as he came out. He put it on for her, and whispered as he said goodnight, "It was good of you to choose my hymn, Miss Somerville."
Jack followed him out.
"You're not coming with me, Jack. No, I can't allow it. You're tired out, and it's a pull to the top at any time."
"Of course I'm coming," said Jack. "Why, it's your last night, more's the pity. And who knows when you and I will get a chat together again."
Yet, although Jack said this, he did not seem much inclined to talk when they first set out. Forester was thinking of Doris, and wondering why she seemed so much out of spirits that evening. The two friends walked on almost in silence for some time. It was Jack who spoke first.
"Forester -- Norman."
"Yes, Jack."
"I want to tell you something."
The doctor felt like a soldier buckling on his armour as he pulled himself together, and answered in as cheerful a voice as he could manage, "Well, Jack, what is it?"
"It's a secret at present, but I
must tell you. I know I can trust you. We've been friends such a long time, haven't we?"
"Shall I guess what it is? Something exciting, isn't it? You are going to tell me you are engaged, Jack."
"However in the world did you know?" said Jack. "Oh, I see, my brother Don must have told you. Don never can keep a secret. He never could when we were at school, and he's no better now. It's as good as telling the town crier to tell Don anything!"
"Well, he didn't exactly tell me," said Forester.
"Oh, I understand. He threw out hints, and left you to guess the rest," said Jack, laughing. "Well, it's true, and I don't mind you knowing. In fact, I want you to know. That's why I came up the hill with you tonight. I want to tell you how happy I am."
Forester slipped his arm in Jack's as he said, "You know, don't you, how glad, how glad I am for you, Jack? You could not have done better!"
"I see that Don has evidently told you the whole story. Yes, I am indeed a happy man. We've known each other so long, and Doris is such a splendid girl. Oh, you don't know what she is, or how she has helped me. I could never tell you all, even if I was to try. But I hadn't much hope that I would ever get her. You see, her father has rather put difficulties in the way, and all the time I've been here I've been trying to persuade him to let us be engaged. We've loved each other a long time now, and he knows we have, but he said he would never let us be engaged until I had an appointment as a vicar with an income. He does not believe in long engagements."
"Do you not have an appointment now?"
"No, not yet, but I have hopes of one soon. Still, it is not certain, and it seemed so long to wait. And all this time he would not let me write to her, and I scarcely ever saw her. But just this last week he has come round so far as to say we may be privately engaged. That is to say, the family may know, her family and mine, and we may correspond, and I may go there sometimes. So altogether things will be on a much more comfortable footing. And then, of course, if I get a church of my own, everyone can know, and he will consent to our being married at once. I feel years younger already, and Doris says she does. I felt I couldn't let you go away without telling you."
Forester pressed his friend's hand as he said goodnight to him at the top of the hill. "I do congratulate you, Jack, with all my heart I do. God bless you both."
Then the doctor went on in the darkness alone. What had been a fear before was a certainty now. Once or twice during the last two or three days he had asked himself whether he had rather jumped to conclusions, or at any rate somewhat anticipated events.
But now he knew. Jack had told him all, and he found that he had made no mistake. Well, he was thankful that he was going tomorrow. In thirty-six hours he would be in London.