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 dead. Among the first to descend the Indiana limestone steps appeared the large, handsome figure of Emma, dressed entirely in dark clothing. Moses Slade noticed her at once, for it was impossible not to notice such a magnetic personage, and he fancied that she might go away without even knowing he was there. (He would never learn, of course, that she had hurried out almost before the last echo of Reverend Castor's Benediction had died away, because she knew that the Baptist Church was always over a little before her own.)

In that first glance, something happened to him which afterward made him feel silly, but at the moment had no such effect. A voice appeared to say, "I can't wait any longer," and excusing himself, he hurried, but with an air of dignity, down the steps of his church, and, crossing the street in full view of the now mingling congregations, raised his glistening top-hat, and said, "Good-morning, Mrs. Downes."

Emma turned with a faint air of surprise, but with only the weakest of smiles (for was she not in sorrow?) "Why, Mr. Slade, I didn't know you were back."

"May I walk a way with you?"

"Of course, it would be a pleasure."

Together they went off beneath the yellowing maples, the eyes of two congregations (to Emma's delight) fastened on them. One voice at least, that of the soured Miss Abercrombie, was raised in criticism. "There's no fool," she observed acidly, "like an old one."

When they had gone a little way beyond the reach of prying eyes and ears, Moses Slade became faintly personal in his conversation. 