Worsingfold church was beautiful. It was Norman, and though it had been repaired here and there, it was very much as the worshippers had seen it in the twelfth century. Janet, used to a modern church built to accommodate villadom, was conscious at once of the prayers of over eight hundred years clustering in the stones and woodwork. It was all very simple. On the altar, flanked by two candles, were garden roses. The choir had only five men, and four of those had the boots and gaiters of the Home Guard showing beneath their cassocks. The boys had the shiny-cheeked, rather wooden faces of country children. Amongst them, looking like an angel, Janet spotted Iris’ ’vacuee.

Worsingfold liked evening church, and when, because of the black-out, evening church was at half-past three, there was very little church-going in the village, for it considered church at any other time than evening meant for gentry. Having come to church, Worsingfold liked to sing. ‘Sun of my soul’ in the burred local accent echoed round the roof, through the open windows and down the road. The vicar was old. Maggie’s description, at least sixty-five, had been generous, but age had not spoilt a beautiful speaking voice; in fact it had mellowed it. Prayer could never be spoken parrot-wise by him, for he was an old saint. The words could not be ignored as he spoke them. “And that the rest of our lives hereafter may be pure and holy, so that at the last we may come to His eternal joy, through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.” Janet had to raise her head from her hands to look at him, so calm and reassuring he sounded. Maggie half lifted her head and glanced at Janet. “Bless the child,” she thought; “if the rest of her life is one half as good as the first twenty-five years she’ll do all right.”

It was during the singing of the Nunc Dimittis that Maggie recollected tomorrow. “Lord, lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word.” Of course, if she must depart, she prayed it would be in peace, but fear gripped her again. She shivered. Janet felt the movement and frowned at her.

“Sit down,” she whispered, and then, as Maggie hesitated, she gave her a little push. “Sit down and don’t swing your legs.”