When he stood up in his pulpit and faced the crowded pews and the steely glances of curious eyes through the shifting flutter of fans, he was as austerely composed as ever; but a buzzing whisper went through the audience like a veritable bee of gossip.

"He looks dreadful," they hissed in each other's ears, with nudges and nods.
All the principal participants in the village commotion were there except Lot Gordon and Dorothy Fair.

Dorothy had not come, in spite of her father's stern commands, and sterner they had been than any commands of his to his beloved child before.

Dorothy had cowered before her father, in utter misery and trepidation, after the company had left that wedding-night, but yielded she had not--only fallen ill again of that light fever which so easily beset her under stress of mind.
That Sunday morning, striving to rise and go to meeting as her father said, and being in truth willing enough, since she had a terrified longing to see Eugene Hautville in the choir and ascertain if he were angry or glad, she fell back weak and dizzy on her pillows, and the doctor was called.

Dorothy's fever ran lightly, as all ailments of hers, whether mental or physical, were wont to do; and yet she had a delicacy of organization which caused her to be shaken sorely by slight causes.