eleven o'clock
He left her , so abruptly that she could not tell in which direction he had turned , nor at first believe that he had really gone . Then she knelt for what seemed to her like hours , the knowledge of the justice of all he had said growing clearer every minute , the grief that she had hurt him so growing more and more intolerable , the hopelessness of asking his forgiveness seeming greater and greater It did not occur to her to try to find him , or to expect that he would come back -- she must stay there until she could control her tears , and then she must go home . A few women , taking advantage of the blessed custom which keeps nearly all Anglican and Roman churches open all day for rest , meditation , and prayer , came in , stayed a few minutes , and left again . At eleven o'clock there was a short service , the daily Morning Prayer , sparsely attended . Sylvia knelt and stood , mechanically , with the other worshippers . Then suddenly , just before the benediction was pronounced , Austin slid into the seat beside her , and groped for her hand . Neither spoke , nor could have spoken ; indeed , there seemed no need of words between them .