There were no children playing yet about the streets or lanes; but the cries of some came at intervals from unseen chambers, as the Sunday soap stung their eyes, or the Sunday comb tore their matted locks.
As Faber rode out of his stable-yard, Wingfold took his hat from its peg, to walk through his churchyard.

He lived almost in the churchyard, for, happily, since his marriage the rectory had lost its tenants, and Mr.Bevis had allowed him to occupy it, in lieu of part of his salary.
It was not yet church-time by hours, but he had a custom of going every Sunday morning, in the fine weather, quite early, to sit for an hour or two alone in the pulpit, amidst the absolute solitude and silence of the great church.

It was a door, he said, through which a man who could not go to Horeb, might enter and find the power that dwells on mountain-tops and in desert places.
He went slowly through the churchyard, breathing deep breaths of the delicious spring-morning air.

Rain-drops were sparkling all over the grassy graves, and in the hollows of the stones they had gathered in pools.

The eyes of the death-heads were full of water, as if weeping at the defeat of their master.