The hand holding the stockwhip stirred threateningly, and the hymn was
almost lost in the agitation of the worshippers. Chris remained silent,
and Harry, who had taken the book again, had shifted his stern eyes to
the slim white thumb beside his broad brown one. A stifled sob at his
side startled him, and he turned a swift glance upon the face of his
companion. That one glance, the first, left his brave resolution shaken
and his spirit awed.

Harry remembered Chris as a schoolgirl, tall and stag-like, always
running, her rebellious knees tossing up scant petticoats, her long hair
rarely leaving more than one eye visible through its smother of tangled
silk. She was very brown then and very bony, and so ridiculously soft of
heart that her tenderness was regarded by her schoolmates as an
unfortunate infirmity. She was tall still, taller than himself, with
large limbs and a sort of manly squareness of the shoulders and erectness
of the figure, but neatly gowned, with little feminine touches of flower
and ribbon that belied the savour of unwomanliness in her size and her
bearing. Her complexion was clear and fair, her abundant hair the colour
of new wheat, her features were large, the nose a trifle aquiline, the
chin square and, finely chiselled; the feminine grace was due to her
eyes, large, grey, and almost infantile in expression. The people of
Waddy called her handsome, and no more tender term would suit; but they
knew that this fair girl-woman, who seemed created to dominate and might
have been expected to carry things with a high hand everywhere, was in
reality the simplest, gentlest, and most emotional of her sex. She looked
strong and was strong; her only weakness was of the heart, and that was a
prey to the sorrows of every human being within whose influence she came
in the rounds of her daily life.