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that he joined together in prayer； and lifted up with a reverent solemnity in
the act of benediction。 Hermiston pew was a little square box； dwarfish in
proportion with the kirk itself； and enclosing a table not much bigger than
a footstool。 There sat Archie； an apparent prince； the only undeniable
gentleman and the only great heritor in the parish； taking his ease in the
only pew； for no other in the kirk had doors。 Thence he might command an
undisturbed view of that congregation of solid plaided men； strapping
wives and daughters； oppressed children； and uneasy sheep…dogs。 It was
strange how Archie missed the look of race； except the dogs； with their
refined foxy faces and inimitably curling tails； there was no one present
with the least claim to gentility。 The Cauldstaneslap party was scarcely an
exception； Dandie perhaps； as he amused himself making verses through
the interminable burden of the service； stood out a little by the glow in his
eye and a certain superior animation of face and alertness of body； but
even Dandie slouched like a rustic。 The rest of the congregation； like so
many sheep； oppressed him with a sense of hob…nailed routine； day
following day … of physical labour in the open air； oatmeal porridge； peas
bannock the somnolent fireside in the evening； and the night…long nasal
slumbers in a box…bed。 Yet he knew many of them to be shrewd and
humorous； men of character； notable women； making a bustle in the world
and radiating an influence from their low…browed doors。 He knew besides
they were like other men； below the crust of custom； rapture found a way；
he had heard them beat the timbrel before Bacchus … had heard them shout
and carouse over their whisky…toddy； and not the most Dutch… bottomed
and severe faces among them all； not even the solemn elders themselves；
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but were capable of singular gambols at the voice of love。 Men drawing
near to an end of life's adventurous journey … maids thrilling with fear and
curiosity on the threshold of entrance … women who had borne and perhaps
buried children； who could remember the clinging of the small dead hands
and the patter of the little feet now silent … he marvelled that among all
those faces there should be no face of expectation； none that was mobile；
none into which the rhythm and poetry of life had entered。 〃O for a live
face；〃 he thought； and at times he had a memory of Lady Flora； and at
times he would study the living gallery before him with despair； and
would see himself go on to waste his days in that joyless pastoral place；
and death come to him； and his grave be dug under the rowans； and the
Spirit of the Earth laugh out in a thunder…peal at the huge fiasco。
On this particular Sunday； there was no doubt but that the spring had
come at last。 It was warm； with a latent shiver in the air that made the
warmth only the more welcome。 The shallows of the stream glittered and
tinkled among bunches of primrose。 Vagrant scents of the earth arrested
Archie by the way with moments of ethereal intoxication。 The grey
Quakerish dale was still only awakened in places and patches from the
sobriety of its winter colouring； and he wondered at its beauty； an essential
beauty of the old earth it seemed to him； not resident in particulars but
breathing to him from the whole。 He surprised himself by a sudden
impulse to write poetry … he did so sometimes； loose； galloping octo…
syllabics in the vein of Scott … and when he had taken his place on a
boulder； near some fairy falls and shaded by a whip of a tree that was
already radiant with new leaves； it still more surprised him that he should
have nothing to write。 His heart perhaps beat in time to some vast
indwelling rhythm of the universe。 By the time he came to a corner of the
valley and could see the kirk； he had so lingered by the way that the first
psalm was finishing。 The nasal psalmody； full of turns and trills and
graceless graces； seemed the essential voice of the kirk itself upraised in
thanksgiving； 〃Everything's alive；〃 he said； and again cries it aloud； 〃thank
God； everything's alive！〃 He lingered yet a while in the kirk…yard。 A tuft of
primroses was blooming hard by the leg of an old black table tombstone；
and he stopped to contemplate the random apologue。 They stood forth on
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the cold earth with a trenchancy of contrast； and he was struck with a
sense of incompleteness in the day； the season； and the beauty that
surrounded him … the chill there was in the warmth； the gross black clods
about the opening primroses； the damp earthy smell that was everywhere
intermingled with the scents。 The voice of the aged Torrance within rose in
an ecstasy。 And he wondered if Torrance also felt in his old bones the
joyous influence of the spring morning； Torrance； or the shadow of what
once was Torrance； that must come so soon to lie outside here in the sun
and rain with all his rheumatisms； while a new minister stood in his room
and thundered from his own familiar pulpit？ The pity of it； and something
of the chill of the grave； shook him for a moment as he made haste to
enter。
He went up the aisle reverently； and took his place in the pew with
lowered eyes； for he feared he had already offended the kind old
gentleman in the pulpit； and was sedulous to offend no further。 He could
not follow the prayer； not even the heads of it。 Brightnesses of azure；
clouds of fragrance； a tinkle of falling water and singing birds； rose like
exhalations from some deeper； aboriginal memory； that was not his； but
belonged to the flesh on his bones。 His body remembered； and it seemed
to him that his body was in no way gross； but ethereal and perishable like
a strain of music； and he felt for it an exquisite tenderness as for a child；
an innocent； full of beautiful instincts and destined to an early death。 And
he felt for old Torrance … of the many supplications； of the few days … a
pity that was near to tears。 The prayer ended。 Right over him was a tablet
in the wall； the only ornament in the roughly masoned chapel … for it was
no more； the tablet commemorated； I was about to say the virtues； but
rather the existence of a former Rutherford of Hermiston； and Archie；
under that trophy of his long descent and local greatness； leaned back in
the pew and contemplated vacancy with the shadow of a smile between
playful and sad； that became him strangely。 Dandie's sister； sitting by the
side of Clem in her new Glasgow finery； chose that moment to observe the
young laird。 Aware of the stir of his entrance； the little formalist had kept
her eyes fastened and her face prettily composed during the prayer。 It was
not hypocrisy； there was no one further from a hypocrite。 The girl had
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