They neared the Court. The village church was close by the Court-wall.
It drew Belward's attention. One by one lights were springing up in it.
It was a Friday evening, and the choir were come to practise. They saw
buxom village girls stroll in, followed by the organist, one or two young
men and a handful of boys. Presently the horsemen were seen, and a
staring group gathered at the church door. An idea came to Belward.

"Kings used to make pilgrimages before they took their crowns, why
shouldn't I?" he said half-jestingly. Most men placed similarly would
have been so engaged with the main event that they had never thought of
this other. But Belward was not excited. He was moving deliberately,
prepared for every situation. He had a great game in hand, and he had no
fear of his ability to play it. He suddenly stopped his horse, and threw
the bridle to Jacques, saying:

"I'll be back directly, Brillon."

He entered the churchyard, and passed to the door. As he came the group
under the crumbling arch fell back, and at the call of the organist went
to the chancel. Belward came slowly up the aisle, and paused about the
middle. Something in the scene gave him a new sensation. The church was
old, dilapidated; but the timbered roof, the Norman and Early English
arches incongruously side by side, with patches of ancient distemper and
paintings, and, more than all, the marble figures on the tombs, with
hands folded so foolishly,--yet impressively too, brought him up with a
quick throb of the heart. It was his first real contact with England;
for he had not seen London, save at Euston Station and in the north-west
district. But here he was in touch with his heritage. He rested his
hand upon a tomb beside him, and looked around slowly.