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Mrs. Morel, like a little
champion, sat at the head of her pew, Paul at the other end; and at
first Miriam sat next to him. Then the chapel was like home. It was a
pretty place, with dark pews and slim, elegant pillars, and flowers. And
the same people had sat in the same places ever since he was a boy. It
was wonderfully sweet and soothing to sit there for an hour and a half,
next to Miriam, and near to his mother, uniting his two loves under the
spell of the place of worship. Then he felt warm and happy and religious
at once. And after chapel he walked home with Miriam, whilst Mrs. Morel
spent the rest of the evening with her old friend, Mrs. Burns. He was
keenly alive on his walks on Sunday nights with Edgar and Miriam. He
never went past the pits at night, by the lighted lamp-house, the tall
black headstocks and lines of trucks, past the fans spinning slowly like
shadows, without the feeling of Miriam returning to him, keen and almost
unbearable.
She did not very long occupy the Morels' pew.


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